LE  R 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


©R>  "Koae  and  Silver 


OLD  ROSE  AND 
SILVER 


MYRTLE   REED 


Author  of 

"Lavender  and  Old  Lace  " 

"The  Master's  Violin" 

"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun" 

"Flower  of  the  Dusk" 

Etc. 


New  York 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

Publishers 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 

BY 
MYRTLE  REED   McCULLOUGH 


BY  MYRTLE  REED 

A  Weaver  of  Dreams  Sonnets  to  a  Lover 

Old  Rose  and  Silver  Master  of  the  Vineyard 

Lavender  and  Old  Laos  Flower  of  the  Dusk 

The  Master's  Violin  At  the  Sign  of  the  Jack-o'-Lantero 

Love  Letters  of  a  Musician  A  Spinner  in  the  Sun 

The  Spinster  Book  Later  Love  Letters  of  a  Musician 

The  Shadow  of  Victory  Love  Affairs  of  Literary  Men 

Threads  of  Grey  and  Gold  The  White  Shield 

Book  of  Clever  Beasts  Pickaback  Songs 
Myrtle  Reed  Year  Book 


This  edition  is  issued  under  arrangement  with  the  publishers 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Butbor's  Hote 

The  music  which  appears  in  the  following  pages  is 
from  an  unpublished  piano  arrangement,  by  Grant 
Weber,  of  Wilson  G.  Smith's  "  Entreaty,"  published 
by  G.  Schirmer,  New  York. 


iii 


1512995 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PACK 

I— A  FALLING  STAR  i 

II — WELCOME  HOME      .         .         .         .       14 

III — THE  VOICE  OF  THE  VIOLIN      .        .      26 

IV — THE  CROSBY  TWINS         ...      39 

V — AN  AFTERNOON  CALL      .     »  .         .       50 

VI — THE  LIGHT  ON  THE  ALTAR      .         .      62 

VII — FATHER  AND  SON    ....       73 

VIII— "THE  YEAR'S  AT  THE  SPRING"        .      84 

IX — A  KNIGHT-ERRANT  ...      95 

X — SWEET- AND-TWENTY         .         .         .107 

XI — KEEPING  THE  FAITH        .         .         .119 

XII — AN  ENCHANTED  HOUR     .        .         .131 

XIII — WHITE  GLOVES        .         .         .         .146 

XIV — THE  THIRTIETH  OF  JUNE          .         .158 

XV— "How  SHE  WILL  COME  TO  ME"     .     170 

XVI — How  ISABEL  CAME          .        .        .183 

XVII — PENANCE 195 

XVIII — "LESS  THAN  THE   DUSTM  .  .      2O7 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGU 

XIX — OVER  THE  BAR  ....  220 

XX — RISEN  FROM  THE  DEAD  .  .  .  233 

XXI — SAVED — AND  LOST  ....  245 

XXII — A  BIRTHDAY  PARTY         .         .         .  258 

XXIII— "TEARS,   IDLE  TEARS"   .         .         .271 

XXIV— THE  HOUSE  WHERE  LOVE  LIVED  286 


©R>  "Rose  ant>  Silver 


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THE  last  hushed  chord  died  into  silence,  but  the 
woman  lingered,  dreaming  over  the  keys.  Firelight 
from  the  end  of  the  room  brought  red-gold  gleams 
into  the  dusky  softness  of  her  hair  and  shadowed  her 
profile  upon  the  opposite  wall.  No  answering  flash 
of  jewels  met  the  questioning  light — there  was  only 
a  mellow  glow  from  the  necklace  of  tourmalines, 
quaintly  set,  that  lay  upon  the  white  lace  of  her 
gown. 

She  turned  her  face  toward  the  fire  as  a  flower 
seeks  the  sun,  but  her  deep  eyes  looked  beyond  it, 
into  the  fires  of  Life  itself.  A  haunting  sense  of 


8  $15  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

unfulfilment  stirred  her  to  vague  resentment,  and  she 
sighed  as  she  rose  and  moved  restlessly  about  the 
room. 

She  lighted  the  tall  candles  that  stood  upon  the 
mantel-shelf,  straightened  a  rug,  moved  a  chair,  and 
gathered  up  a  handful  of  fallen  rose-petals  on  her 
way  to  the  window.  She  was  about  to  draw  down  the 
shade,  but,  instead,  her  hand  dropped  slowly  to  her 
side,  her  fingers  unclasped,  and  the  crushed  crimson 
petals  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

Outside,  the  purple  dusk  of  Winter  twilight  lay 
soft  upon  the  snow.  Through  an  opening  in  the 
evergreens  the  far  horizon,  grey  as  mother-of-pearl, 
bent  down  to  touch  the  plain  in  a  misty  line  that  was 
definite  yet  not  clear.  At  the  left  were  the  mountains, 
cold  and  calm,  veiled  by  distances  dim  with  frost. 

There  was  a  step  upon  the  stair,  but  the  strong, 
straight  figure  in  white  lace  did  not  turn  away  from 
the  window,  even  when  the  door  opened.  The  still 
ness  was  broken  only  by  the  cheerful  crackle  of  the 
fire  until  a  sweet  voice  asked : 

"Are  you  dreaming,  Rose?" 

Rose  turned  away  from  the  window  then,  with  a 
laugh.  "Why,  I  must  have  been.  Will  you  have  this 
chair,  Aunt  Francesca?" 

She  turned  a  high-backed  rocker  toward  the  fire  and 
Madame  Bernard  leaned  back  luxuriously,  stretching 
her  tiny  feet  to  the  blaze.  She  wore  grey  satin  slippers 
with  high  French  heels  and  silver  buckles.  A  bit  of 
grey  silk  stocking  was  visible  between  the  buckle 
and  the  hem  of  her  grey  gown. 

Rose  smiled  at  her  in  affectionate  appreciation. 
The  little  old  lady  seemed  like  a  bit  of  Dresden  china ; 
she  was  so  dainty  and  so  frail.  Her  hair  was  lustre- 


H  falling  Star  3 

less,  snowy  white,  and  beautifully,  though  simply, 
dressed  in  a  bygone  fashion.  Her  blue  eyes  were  so 
deep  in  colour  as  to  seem  almost  purple  in  certain 
lights,  and  the  years  had  been  kind  to  her,  leaving 
few  lines.  Her  hands,  resting  on  the  arms  of  her 
chair,  had  not  lost  their  youthful  contour,  but  around 
her  eyes  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  were  the  faint 
prints  of  many  smiles. 

"Rose,"  said  Madame  Bernard,  suddenly,  "you 
are  very  lovely  to-night." 

"I  was  thinking  the  same  of  you,"  responded  the 
younger  woman,  flushing.  "Shall  we  organise  our 
selves  into  a  mutual  admiration  society?" 

"We  might  as  well,  I  think.  There  seems  to  be 
nobody  else. " 

A  shadow  crossed  Rose's  face  and  her  beauty 
took  on  an  appealing  wistfulness.  She  had  been 
sheltered  always  and  she  hungered  for  Life  as  the 
sheltered  often  do.  Madame  Bernard,  for  the  thou 
sandth  time,  looked  at  her  curiously.  From  the 
shapely  foot  that  tapped  restlessly  on  the  rug  beneath 
her  white  lace  gown,  to  the  crown  of  dusky  hair  with 
red-gold  lights  in  it,  Rose  was  made  for  love — and 
Madame  wondered  how  she  had  happened  to  miss  it. 

"Aunt  Francesca, "  said  Rose,  with  a  whimsical 
sadness,  "do  you  realise  that  I'm  forty  to-day?" 

"That's  nothing,"  returned  the  other,  serenely. 
"Everybody  has  been  forty,  or  will  be,  if  they  live." 

"I  haven't  lived  yet,"  Rose  objected.  "I've  only 
been  alive. " 

"'While  there's  life  there's  hope,'"  quoted 
Madame  lightly.  "What  do  you  want,  dear  child? 
Battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  want." 


1Rose  anfc  Silver 

"  Let's  take  an  inventory  and  see  if  we  can  find  out. 
You  have  one  priceless  blessing — good  health.  You 
have  considerably  more  than  your  share  of  good 
looks.  Likewise  a  suitable  wardrobe;  not  many 
clothes,  but  few,  and  those  few,  good.  Clothes  are 
supposed  to  please  and  satisfy  women.  You  have 
musical  talent,  a  love  of  books  and  flowers,  a  fine 
appreciation  of  beauty,  a  host  of  friends,  and  that 
one  supreme  gift  of  the  gods — a  sense  of  humour.  In 
addition  to  all  this,  you  have  a  comfortable  home  and 
an  income  of  your  own  that  enables  you  to  do  practi 
cally  as  you  please.  Could  you  ask  for  more?  " 

"Not  while  I  have  you,  Aunt  Francesca.  I  suppose 
I'm  horrid." 

"You  couldn't  be,  my  dear.  I've  left  marriage 
out  of  the  question,  since,  if  you'd  had  any  deep 
longing  for  it,  you'd  have  chosen  someone  from  the 
horde  that  has  infested  my  house  for  fifteen  years 
and  more.  You've  surely  been  loved. " 

Rose  smiled  and  bit  her  lip.  "I  think  that's  it," 
she  murmured.  "I've  never  cared  for  anybody — like 
that.  At  least,  I  don't  think  I  have. " 

"  'When  in  doubt,  don't,'  '  resumed  the  other, 
taking  refuge  in  a  platitude.  "Is  there  any  one 
of  that  faithful  procession  whom  you  particularly 
regret?" 

"No,"  answered  Rose,  truthfully. 

"Love  is  like  a  vaccination,"  continued  the  little 
lady  in  grey,  with  seeming  irrelevance.  "When  it 
takes,  you  don't  have  to  be  told. " 

Her  tone  was  light,  almost  flippant,  and  Rose,  in 
her  turn,  wondered  at  the  woman  and  her  marvellous 
self-control.  At  twenty-five,  Madame  Bernard  mar 
ried  a  young  French  soldier,  who  had  chosen  to  serve 


H  falling  Star  5 

his  adopted  country  in  the  War  of  the  Rebellion.  In 
less  than  three  months,  her  gallant  Captain  was 
brought  home  to  her — dead. 

For  a  long  time,  she  hovered  uncertainly  between 
life  and  death.  Then,  one  day,  she  sat  up  and  asked 
for  a  mirror.  The  ghost  of  her  former  self  looked  back 
at  her,  for  her  colour  was  gone,  her  hair  was  quickly 
turning  grey,  and  the  light  had  vanished  from  her 
eyes.  Yet  the  valiant  spirit  was  not  broken,  and  that 
day,  with  high  resolve,  she  sent  her  soul  forward  upon 
the  new  way. 

"He  was  a  soldier,"  she  said,  "and  I,  his  wife, 
will  be  a  soldier  too.  He  faced  Death  bravely  and  I 
shall  meet  Life  with  as  much  courage  as  God  will  give 
me.  But  do  not,  oh,  do  not  even  speak  his  name  to 
me,  or  I  shall  forget  I  am  a  soldier  and  become  a 
woman  again. " 

So,  gradually,  it  became  understood  that  the  young 
soldier's  name  was  not  to  be  mentioned  to  his  widow. 
She  took  up  her  burden  and  went  on  devoting  herself 
to  the  army  service  until  the  war  was  over.  Then  she 
ceased  to  labour  with  lint  and  bandages  and  betook 
herself  to  new  surroundings.  Her  husband's  brother 
offered  her  a  home,  but  she  was  unable  to  accept,  for 
the  two  men  looked  so  much  alike  that  she  could  not 
have  borne  it.  Sometimes,  even  now,  she  turned 
away  in  pain  from  Rose,  who  resembled  her  father. 

"  'Rich  man,  poor  man,  beggar  man,  thief,'  " 
Madame  Bernard  was  saying.  "I  seem  to  run  to 
conversational  antiques  to-night.  'Doctor,  lawyer, 
merchant,  chief — '  which  will  you  have,  Rose?  If  I 
remember  rightly,  you've  had  all  but  the  thief  already. 
Shall  I  get  you  a  nice  embezzler,  or  will  a  plain  burglar 
do?" 


6  ©R>  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

"Neither,"  laughed  Rose.  "I'm  safe  from  em 
bezzlers,  I  think,  but  I  live  in  nightly  fear  of  being 
burgled,  as  you  well  know. " 

"None  the  less,  we've  got  to  take  the  risk.  Isabel 
will  not  be  contented  with  you  and  me.  She'll  want 
other  hats  on  the  rack  besides  the  prehistoric  relic 
we  keep  there  as  a  warning  to  burglars." 

"I'd  forgotten  Isabel,"  answered  Rose,  with  a 
start.  "What  is  she  doing?" 

"  Dressing  for  dinner.  My  dear,  that  child  brought 
three  trunks  with  her  and  I  understand  another  is 
coming.  She  has  enough  clothes  to  set  up  a  modest 
shop,  should  she  desire  to  'go  into  trade,'  as  the 
English  say." 

"I'd  forgotten  Isabel,"  said  Rose,  again.  "We 
must  find  some  callow  youths  to  amuse  her.  A  girl 
of  twenty  can't  appreciate  a  real  man." 

"Sometimes  a  girl  of  forty  can't,  either,"  laughed 
Madame,  with  a  sly  glance  at  Rose.  "Cheer  up,  my 
dear — I'm  nearing  seventy,  and  I  assure  you  that 
forty  is  really  very  young." 

"It's  scarcely  infantile,  but  I'll  admit  that  I'm 
young — comparatively. " 

"All  things  are  comparative  in  this  world,  and 
perhaps  you  and  Isabel,  with  your  attendant  swains, 
may  enable  me  to  forget  that  I'm  no  longer  young, 
even  comparatively. " 

The  guest  came  in,  somewhat  shyly.  She  was  a 
cousin  of  Rose's,  on  the  mother's  side,  and  had 
arrived  only  that  afternoon  on  a  visit. 

"Bless  us,"  said  Madame  Bernard;  "how  pretty 
we  are!  Isabel,  you're  a  credit  to  the  establishment. " 

Isabel  smiled — a  little,  cool  smile.  She  was  almost 
as  tall  as  Rose  and  towered  far  above  the  little  lady 


H  falling  Star  7 

in  grey  who  offered  her  a  welcoming  hand  and  invited 
her  to  sit  by  the  fire.  Isabel's  gown  was  turquoise 
blue  and  very  becoming,  as  her  hair  and  eyes  were 
dark  and  her  skin  was  fair.  Her  eyes  were  almost 
black  and  very  brilliant ;  they  literally  sparkled  when 
she  allowed  herself  to  become  interested  in  anything. 

"I'm  not  late,  am  I?"  she  asked. 

"  No, "  answered  Rose,  glancing  at  the  clock.  "  It's 
ten  minutes  to  seven." 

"I  couldn't  find  my  things.  It  was  like  dressing 
in  a  dream,  when,  as  soon  as  you  find  something  you 
want,  you  immediately  lose  everything  else." 

"I  know,"  laughed  Rose.  "I  had  occasion  to  pack 
a  suit-case  myself  last  night,  during  my  troubled 
slumbers." 

A  large  yellow  cat  appeared  mysteriously  out  of  the 
shadows  and  came,  yawning,  toward  the  fire.  He  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  Madame's  grey  gown,  and 
blinked. 

Isabel  drew  her  skirts  away.  "I  don't  like  cats,'* 
she  said. 

"There  are  cats  and  cats,"  remarked  Madame 
Bernard  in  a  tone  of  gentle  rebuke.  "Mr.  Boffin  is 
not  an  ordinary  cat.  He  is  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar 
and  he  never  forgets  his  manners. " 

"I've  wondered,  sometimes,"  said  Rose,  "whether 
he  really  knows  everything,  or  only  pretends  that  he 
does.  He  looks  very  wise. " 

"Silence  and  reserve  will  give  anyone  a  reputation 
for  wisdom, "  Madame  responded.  She  bent  down  to 
stroke  the  yellow  head,  but,  though  Mr.  Boffin  grate 
fully  accepted  the  caress,  he  did  not  condescend  to 
purr.  Presently  he  stalked  away  into  the  shadows, 
waving  his  yellow  tail. 


8  ©T&  itose  an&  Stiver 

"What  a  lovely  room  this  is,"  observed  Isabel, 
after  a  pause. 

"It's  comfortable,"  replied  Madame.  "I  couldn't 
live  in  an  ugly  place. " 

Everything  in  the  room  spoke  eloquently  of  good 
taste,  from  the  deep-toned  Eastern  rug  at  the  hearth 
to  the  pictures  upon  the  grey-green  walls.  There  was 
not  a  false  note  anywhere  in  the  subtle  harmony  of 
line,  colour,  and  fabric.  It  was  the  sort  of  room  that 
one  comes  back  to,  after  long  absence,  with  renewed 
appreciation. 

"I  love  old  mahogany,"  continued  Isabel.  "I 
suppose  you've  had  this  a  long,  long  time. " 

"No,  it's  new.  To  me — I  mean.  I  have  some 
beautiful  old  French  mahogany,  but  I  don't  use  it. " 

Her  voice  was  very  low  at  the  end  of  the  sentence. 
She  compressed  her  lips  tightly  and,  leaning  forward, 
vigorously  poked  the  fire.  A  stream  of  sparks  went 
up  the  chimney  and  quick  flames  leaped  to  follow. 

"Don't  set  the  house  on  fire,  Aunt  Francesca, " 
cautioned  Rose.  "  There's  the  dinner  gong. " 

The  three  went  out,  Madame  Bernard  a  little 
ahead  and  the  two  younger  women  together.  Rose 
sat  opposite  the  head  of  the  table  and  Isabel  was 
placed  at  Madame's  right.  In  a  single  glance,  the 
guest  noted  that  the  table  was  perfectly  appointed. 

"Are  you  making  company  of  me?"  she  asked. 

"Not  at  all,"  smiled  Madame.  "None  the  less, 
there  is  a  clear  distinction  between  eating  and  dining 
and  we  endeavour  to  dine. " 

"If  Aunt  Francesca  were  on  a  desert  island,"  said 
Rose,  "  I  believe  she  would  make  a  grand  affair  of  her 
solitary  dinner,  and  have  her  coffee  in  the  morning 
before  she  rolled  out  of  the  sand. " 


H  falling  Star  9 

The  little  old  lady  dimpled  with  pleasure.  "I'd  try 
to, "  she  laughed.  "  I  think  I'd " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  little  exclamation  of 
pleasure  from  Rose,  who  had  just  discovered  a  small 
white  parcel  at  her  plate.  She  was  untying  it  with 
eager  fingers,  while  her  colour  came  and  went.  A 
card  fluttered  out,  face  upward.  "To  my  dear  Rose, 
with  love  from  Aunt  Francesca, "  was  written  in  a 
small,  quaint  hand. 

It  was  a  single  magnificent  ruby  set  in  a  ring  which 
exactly  fitted.  Rose  seldom  wore  rings  and  wondered, 
vaguely,  how  Aunt  Francesca  knew. 

"I  filled  a  finger  of  one  of  your  gloves,"  said 
Madame,  as  though  she  had  read  the  thought,  "and 
had  it  fitted.  Simple,  wasn't  it?" 

"Oh, "  breathed  Rose,  "it's  beautiful  beyond  words! 
How  shall  I  ever  thank  you!" 

"Wear  it,  dear.    I'm  so  glad  you're  pleased!" 

"It's  lovely,"  said  Isabel,  but  the  tone  was  cold 
and  she  seemed  to  speak  with  an  effort.  With  a  swift 
little  stab  at  the  heart,  Rose  saw  that  the  girl  envied 
her  the  gift. 

"It  reconciles  me  to  my  years,"  Rose  went  on, 
quickly.  "I'm  willing  to  be  forty,  if  I  can  have  a  ring 
like  this. " 

"Why,  Cousin  Rose!"  cried  Isabel,  in  astonishment. 
11  Are  you  forty?" 

"Yes,  dear.  Don't  be  conventional  and  tell  me 
I  don't  look  it,  for  I  feel  it — every  year. " 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  it, "  Isabel  murmured. 

Rose  turned  the  ring  slowly  upon  her  finger  and  the 
ruby  yielded  the  deep  crimson  glow  of  its  heart  to  the 
candle-light  that  softly  filled  the  room.  "I've  never 
had  a  ruby,"  she  said,  "  and  yet  I  feel,  someway,  as 


io  ©lt>  TRose  an&  Silver 

though  I'd  always  had  this.  It  seems  as  if  it  belonged 
tome." 

"That's  because  it  suits  you,"  nodded  Madame 
Bernard.  "I  hope  that  sometime  our  civilisation  may 
reach  such  a  point  of  advancement  that  every  woman 
will  wear  the  clothes  and  jewels  that  suit  her  person 
ality,  and  make  her  home  a  proper  setting  for  herself. 
See  how  women  break  their  hearts  for  diamonds — and 
not  one  woman  in  a  hundred  can  wear  them." 

"Could  I  wear  diamonds?"  asked  Isabel.  She  was 
interested  now  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 

Madame  Bernard  studied  her  for  a  moment  before 
replying.  "Yes,"  she  admitted,  "you  could  wear 
them  beautifully,  but  they  do  not  belong  to  Rose,  or 
to  me. " 

"What  else  could  I  wear?" 

"Turquoises,  if  they  were  set  in  silver." 

"I  have  one,"  Isabel  announced  with  satisfaction. 
"  A  lovely  big  turquoise  matrix  set  in  dull  silver.  But 
I  have  no  diamonds. " 

"They'll  come,"  Rose  assured  her,  "if  you  want 
them.  I  think  people  usually  get  things  if  they  want 
them  badly  enough. " 

Isabel  turned  to  Madame  Bernard.  "What  stones 
do  you  wear?"  she  inquired,  politely. 

"Only  amethysts,"  she  laughed.  "I  have  a  pearl 
necklace,  but  it  doesn't  quite  '  belong, '  so  I  don't  wear 
it.  I  won't  wear  anything  that  doesn't  '  belong. ' 

"How  can  you  tell?" 

"By  instinct.  I  can  walk  into  a  shop,  look  around 
for  a  moment,  and  say :  '  Please  bring  me  my  hat. ' 
The  one  I  ask  for  is  always  the  right  one.  It  is 
invariably  becoming  and  suitable,  and  it's  the  same 
with  everything  else. " 


H  ffalUng  Star  n 

"It's  a  wonderful  experience  to  go  shopping  with 
Aunt  Francesca, "  put  in  Rose.  "She  knows  what  she 
wants  and  goes  straight  to  it,  without  loss  of  time. 
Utterly  regardless  of  fashion,  for  its  own  sake,  she 
always  contrives  to  be  in  the  mode,  though  I  believe 
that  if  hoop-skirts  were  suited  to  her,  she'd  have  the 
courage  of  her  crinoline,  and  wear  one. " 

"Let  us  be  thankful  they're  not,"  remarked 
Madame.  "It's  almost  impossible  to  believe  it, 
but  they  must  have  looked  well  upon  some  women. 
Every  personality  makes  its  own  demand  for  harmony, 
and  it  is  fascinating  to  me  to  observe  strange  people 
and  plan  for  them  their  houses  and  clothes  and  be 
longings.  You  can  pick  out,  from  a  crowd,  the  woman 
who  would  have  a  crayon  portrait  of  herself  upon  an 
easel  in  her  parlour,  and  quite  properly,  too,  since 
her  nature  demands  it.  After  you  are  experienced, 
you  can  identify  the  man  who  eats  sugar  and  vinegar 
on  lettuce,  and  group  those  who  keep  parrots — or  are 
capable  of  it. " 

The  seventy  years  sat  lightly  upon  Madame  Fran 
cesca  now.  Her  deep  eyes  shone  with  inward  amuse 
ment,  and  little  smiles  hovered  unexpectedly  about 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  A  faint  pink  tint,  like  a 
faded  rose,  bloomed  upon  her  cheeks.  Rose  watched 
her  with  adoring  eyes,  and  wondered  whether  any 
man  in  the  world,  after  fifteen  years  of  close  association, 
could  be  half  so  delightful. 

Coffee  was  brought  into  the  living-room,  when  they 
went  back,  preceded  by  Mr.  Boffin,  emanating  the 
dignified  satisfaction  of  a  cat  who  has  supped  daintily 
upon  chicken  and  cream.  He  sat  down  before  the 
fire  and  methodically  washed  his  face. 

"  I  believe  I  envy  Mr.  Boffin  his  perfect  digestion, " 


12  ®K>  iRose  ant)  Stiver 

remarked  Madame,  as  she  sipped  her  coffee  from  a 
Royal  Canton  cup.  She  and  Rose  stood  for  half  an 
hour  after  dinner,  always. 

Isabel  finished  her  coffee  and  set  the  cup  upon  the 
table.  She  slipped  the  Sheffield  tray  from  under  the 
embroidered  doily  and  took  it  to  the  light,  where  she 
leaned  over  it,  studying  the  design.  Rose  thought 
that  the  light  from  the  tray  was  reflected  upon  the 
girl's  face,  she  became  at  once  so  brilliant,  so 
sparkling. 

"Speaking  of  harmony — "  said  Madame  Bernard^ 
in  a  low  tone,  glancing  at  Rose  and  inclining  her  head 
toward  Isabel. 

"Yes,"  replied  Isabel,  returning  the  tray  to  its 
place;  "it  is  a  lovely  one,  isn't  it?" 

Madame  turned  toward  the  window  to  hide  a  smile. 
Rose  followed,  and  drew  the  little  grey  lady  into  the 
circle  of  her  strong  arm. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Francesca ! "  she  said  softly.  "  I  thank 
you  so  much!" 

The  older  woman  patted  the  hand  that  wore  the 
ruby,  then  turned  to  Isabel.  "Come, "  she  said,  "and 
be  glad  you're  indoors. " 

The  three  women  stood  at  the  wide  window,  look 
ing  out  across  the  snow,  lighted  only  by  the  stars  and 
a  ghostly  crescent  of  moon.  The  evergreens  were 
huddled  closely  together  as  though  they  kept  each 
other  warm.  Beyond,  the  mountains  brooded  in  their 
eternal  sleep,  which  riving  lightnings  and  vast,  re 
verberating  thunders  were  powerless  to  change. 

Suddenly,  across  the  purple  darkness  between  the 
pale  stars,  flamed  a  meteor — an  uncharted  voyager 
through  infinite  seas  of  space.  It  left  a  trail  of  fire 
across  the  heavens,  fading  at  last  into  luminous  mist, 


H  falling  Star  13 

the  colour  of  the  stars.    When  the  light  had  quite  died 
out,  Madame  Bernard  spoke. 

"A  passing  soul, "  she  sighed. 

"A  kiss,"  breathed  Rose,  dreamily. 

"Star-dust!"  laughed  Isabel. 


II 

TKHelcome  "fcome 

"GREAT  news,  my  dears,  great  news!"  cried  Madame 
Bernard,  gaily  waving  an  open  letter  as  she  came  into 
the  room  where  Rose  was  sewing  and  Isabel  experi 
menting  with  a  new  coiffure.  "I'll  give  you  three 
guesses!" 

"Somebody  coming  for  a  visit?"  asked  Isabel. 

"Wrong!" 

"Somebody  coming,  but  not  for  a  visit?"  queried 
Rose. 

"You're  getting  warmer. " 

"How  can  anybody  come,  if  not  for  a  visit?"  in 
quired  Isabel,  mildly  perplexed.  "That  is,  unless 
it's  a  messenger?" 

"The  old  Kent  house  is  to  be  opened,"  said 
Madame,  "and  we're  to  open  it.  At  last  we  shall 
have  neighbours!" 

"How  exciting,"  Rose  answered.  She  did  not 
wholly  share  the  old  lady's  pleasure,  and  wondered, 
with  a  guilty  consciousness  of  the  long  hours  she 
spent  at  her  music,  whether  Aunt  Francesca  had 
been  lonely. 

"Listen,  girls!"  Madame's  cheeks  were  pink  with 
excitement  as  she  sat  down  with  the  letter,  which 
had  been  written  in  Paris. 

14 


Welcome  t>ome  15 

'"My  DEAR  MADAME  FRANCESCA: 

"  'At  last  we  are  coming  home — Allison  and  I. 
The  boy  has  a  fancy  to  see  Spring  come  again  on  his 
native  heath,  so  we  shall  sail  earlier  than  we  had 
otherwise  planned. 

"  'I  wonder,  my  dear  friend,  if  I  dare  ask  you  to 
open  the  house  for  us?  I  am  so  tired  of  hotels  that  I 
want  to  go  straight  back.  You  have  the  keys  and  if 
you  will  engage  the  proper  number  of  servants  and  see 
that  the  place  is  made  habitable,  I  shall  be  more  than 
ever  your  debtor.  I  will  cable  you  when  we  start. 

"  'Trusting  that  all  is  well  with  you  and  yours 
and  with  many  thanks,  believe  me,  my  dear  Madame, 
"  'Most  faithfully  yours, 

"  'RICHARD  KENT.'  " 

"How  like  a  man,"  smiled  Rose.  "That  house 
has  been  closed  for  over  ten  years,  and  he  thinks  there 
is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  unlock  the  front  door  and 
engage  two  or  three  servants  who  may  or  may  not  be 
trustworthy. " 

"What  an  imposition!"  Isabel  said.  "Aunt  Fran- 
cesca,  didn't  I  meet  Allison  Kent  when  I  was  here 
before?" 

"I've  forgotten." 

"Don't  you  remember?  Mother  brought  me  here 
once  when  I  was  a  little  tot.  We  stayed  about  a  week 
and  the  roses  were  all  in  bloom.  I  can  see  the  garden 
now.  Allison  used  to  come  over  sometimes  and  tell 
me  fairy  stories.  He  told  me  that  the  long,  slender 
gold-trimmed  bottles  filled  with  attar  of  roses  came 
from  the  roots  of  the  rose  bushes — don't  you  re 
member?  And  I  pulled  up  rose  bushes  all  over  the 
garden  to  find  out. " 


i6  ®l&  IRose  an&  Silver 

"Dear  me,  yes,"  smiled  Aunt  Francesca.  "How 
time  does  fly!" 

"You  were  very  cross  with  Allison — that  is,  as 
cross  as  you  ever  could  be.  It  seemed  so  queer  for 
you  to  be  angry  at  him  and  not  at  me,  for  I  pulled 
up  the  bushes. " 

"You  were  sufficiently  punished,  Isabel.  I  believe 
the  thorns  hurt  your  little  hands,  didn't  they?" 

"They  certainly  did,"  responded  the  girl,  with  a 
little  shudder  at  the  recollection.  "  I  have  a  scar  still. 
That  was — let  me  see — why,  it  was  fifteen  years 
ago!" 

"Just  before  I  came  to  live  with  Aunt  Francesca, " 
said  Rose.  "You  and  your  mother  went  away  the 
same  day. " 

"Yes,  we  went  in  the  morning,"  Isabel  continued, 
"  and  you  were  to  come  in  the  afternoon.  I  remember 
pleading  with  my  mother  to  let  me  stay  long  enough 
to  see  '  Cousin  Wose. ' 

' '  Fifteen  years ! ' '  Madame  repeated .  ' '  Allison  went 
abroad,  then,  to  study  the  violin,  and  the  house  has 
been  open  only  once  since.  Richard  came  back  for  a 
Summer,  to  attend  to  some  business,  then  returned  to 
Europe.  How  the  time  goes  by !" 

The  letter  fell  to  the  floor  and  Francesca  sat  dream 
ing  over  the  interlude  of  years.  Colonel  Kent  had 
been  her  husband's  best  friend,  and  after  the  pitiless 
sword  had  cleaved  her  life  asunder,  had  become  hers. 
At  forty  the  Colonel  had  married  a  young  and  beauti 
ful  girl.  A  year  later  Francesca  had  gone  to  him  with 
streaming  eyes,  carrying  his  new-born  son  in  her  arms, 
to  tell  him  that  his  wife  was  dead. 

Drawn  together  by  sorrow,  the  two  had  been  as 
dear  to  each  other  as  friends  may  be  but  seldom  are. 


Welcome  t>ome  17 

Though  childless  herself,  Francesca  had  some  of  the 
gifts  of  motherhood,  and,  at  every  step,  she  had  aided 
and  counselled  the  Colonel  in  regard  to  his  son,  who 
had  his  mother's  eyes  and  bore  his  mother's  name. 
Discerning  the  boy's  talent,  long  before  his  father 
suspected  it,  she  had  chosen  the  violin  for  him  rather 
than  the  piano,  and  had  herself  urged  the  Colonel  to 
take  him  abroad  for  study  though  the  thought  of 
separation  caused  her  many  a  pang. 

When  the  two  sailed  away,  Francesca  had  found 
her  heart  strangely  empty;  her  busy  hands  strangely 
idle.  But  Life  had  taught  her  one  great  lesson,  and 
when  one  door  of  her  heart  was  closed,  she  opened 
another,  as  quickly  as  possible.  So  she  sent  for  Rose, 
who  was  alone  in  the  world,  and,  for  fifteen  years,  the 
two  women  had  lived  happily  together. 

As  she  sat  there,  thinking,  some  of  her  gay  courage 
failed  her.  For  the  moment  her  mask  was  off,  and 
in  the  merciless  sunlight,  she  looked  old  and  worn. 
Rose,  looking  at  her  with  tender  pity,  marvelled  at 
the  ignorance  of  man,  in  asking  a  frail  little  old  lady 
to  open  and  make  habitable,  in  less  than  a  fortnight, 
a  house  of  fifteen  large  rooms. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  she  said,  "let  me  open  the 
house.  Tell  me  what  you  want  done,  and  Isabel 
and  I  will  see  to  it. " 

"Certainly,"  agreed  Isabel  without  enthusiasm. 
"We'll  do  it." 

"No,"  Madame  replied  stubbornly.  "He  asked 
me  to  do  it." 

"He  only  meant  for  you  to  direct,"  said  Rose. 
"You  surely  don't  think  he  meant  you  to  do  the 
scrubbing?" 

Madame  smiled  at  that,  and  yielded  gracefully. 


1 8  ©lt>  "Rose  ant>  Silver 

"There  must  be  infinite  scrubbing,  after  all  these 
years.  I  believe  I'll  superintend  operations  from 
here.  Then,  when  it's  all  done,  I'll  go  over  and 
welcome  them  home." 

"That  is  as  it  should  be.  Isabel  and  I  will  go  over 
this  afternoon,  and  when  we  come  back,  we  can  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

"You'd  better  drive — I'm  sure  the  paths  aren't 
broken." 

So,  after  luncheon,  the  two  started  out  with  the 
keys,  Madame  waving  them  a  cheery  good-bye  from 
the  window. 

"Everything  about  this  place  seems  queer  to  me," 
said  Isabel.  "It's  the  same,  and  yet  not  the  same." 

"I  know,"  Rose  answered.  "Things  are  much 
smaller,  aren't  they?" 

"Yes.  The  rooms  used  to  be  vast,  and  the  ceilings 
very  far  away.  Now,  they're  merely  large  rooms 
with  the  ceilings  comfortably  high.  The  garden  used 
to  seem  like  a  huge  park,  but  now  it's  only  a  large 
garden.  There  used  to  be  a  great  many  steps  in  the 
stairway,  and  high  ones  at  that.  Now  it's  nothing 
compared  with  other  flights.  Only  Aunt  Francesca 
remains  the  same.  She  hasn't  changed  at  all. " 

"She's  a  saint,"  said  Rose  with  deep  conviction, 
as  the  carriage  turned  into  the  driveway. 

The  house,  set  far  back  from  the  street,  was  of  the 
true  Colonial  type,  with  stately  white  pillars  at  the 
dignified  entrance.  The  garden  was  a  tangled  mass 
of  undergrowth — in  spite  of  the  snow  one  could  see 
that — but  the  house,  being  substantially  built,  had 
changed  scarcely  at  all. 

"A  new  coat  of  paint  will  freshen  it  up  amazingly, " 
said  Rose,  as  they  went  up  the  steps.  She  was  thrilled 


Welcome  t>ome  19 

witfi.  a  mysterious  sense  of  adventure  which  the 
younger  woman  did  not  share.  "I  feel  like  a  burg 
lar,"  she  continued,  putting  the  key  into  the  rusty 
lock. 

"I  feel  cold, "  remarked  Isabel,  shivering  in  her  furs. 

At-  last  the  wide  door  swung  on  its  creaking  hinges 
and  they  went  into  the  loneliness  and  misery  of  an 
empty  house.  The  dust  of  ages  had  settled  upon 
everything  and  penetrated  every  nook  and  cranny. 
The  floors  groaned  dismalty,  and  the  scurrying  feet  of 
mice  echoed  through  the  walls.  Cobwebs  draped 
the  windows,  where  the  secret  spinners  had  held 
high  carnival,  undisturbed.  An  indescribable  musty 
odour  almost  stifled  them,  and  the  chill  dampness 
carried  with  it  a  sense  of  gloom  and  foreboding. 

"My  goodness!"  Isabel  exclaimed.  "Nobody  can 
ever  live  here  again. " 

"Don't  be  discouraged,"  laughed  Rose.  "Soap, 
water,  sunshine,  and  fire  can  accomplish  miracles." 

At  the  end  of  the  hall  a  black,  empty  fireplace 
yawned  cavernously.  There  was  another  in  the 
living-room  and  still  another  in  the  library  back  of  it. 
Isabel  opened  the  door  on  the  left.  "  Why,  there's 
another  fireplace  in  the  dining-room, "  she  said.  "  Do 
you  suppose  they  have  one  in  the  kitchen,  too?" 

"Go  in  and  see,  if  you  like. " 

"I'm  afraid  to  go  alone.    You  come,  too. " 

There  was  no  fireplace  in  the  kitchen,  but  the  rusty 
range  was  sadly  in  need  of  repair. 

"I'm  going  down  cellar,"  Rose  said.  "Are  you 
coming?" 

"I  should  say  not.    Hurry  back,  won't  you?" 

Rose  went  cautiously  down  the  dark,  narrow  stair 
way.  The  light  was  dim  in  the  basement  but  she 


Utose  ant>  Silver 


could  see  that  there  was  no  coal.  She  went  back  and 
forth  several  times  from  bin  to  window,  making  notes 
in  a  small  memorandum  book.  She  was  quite  deter 
mined  that  Aunt  Francesca  should  be  able  to  find  no 
fault  with  her  housekeeping. 

When  she  went  back,  there  were  no  signs  of  Isabel. 
She  went  from  room  to  room,  calling,  then  concluded 
that  she  had  gone  back  to  the  carriage,  which  was 
waiting  outside. 

Rose  took  measurements  for  new  curtains  in  all  the 
rooms  on  the  lower  floor,  then  climbed  the  creaking 
stairway.  She  came  upon  Isabel  in  the  sitting-room, 
upstairs,  standing  absorbed  before  an  open  desk.  In 
her  hand  she  held  something  which  gleamed  brightly 
even  in  the  gathering  shadow. 

"Isabel!"  she  cried,  in  astonishment. 

The  girl  turned  and  came  forward.  Her  eyes  were 
sparkling.  "Look!  There's  a  secret  drawer  in  the 
desk  and  I  found  this  in  it.  I  love  secret  drawers, 
don't  you?" 

"I  never  have  looked  for  them  in  other  people's 
houses,"  Rose  answered,  coldly. 

"I  never  have  either,"  retorted  Isabel,  "except 
when  I've  been  invited  to  clean  other  people's  houses.  " 

There  was  something  so  incongruous  in  the  idea  of 
Isabel  cleaning  a  house  that  Rose  laughed  and  the 
awkward  moment  quickly  passed. 

"Look,"  said  Isabel,  again. 

Rose  took  it  from  her  hand  —  a  lovely  miniature 
framed  in  brilliants.  A  sweet,  old-fashioned  face  was 
pictured  upon  the  ivory  in  delicate  colours  —  that  of  a 
girl  in  her  early  twenties,  with  her  smooth,  dark  hair 
drawn  back  over  her  ears.  A  scarf  of  real  lace  was 
exquisitely  painted  upon  the  dark  background  of 


OTelcome  t>ome  21 

her  gown.  The  longing  eyes  held  Rose  transfixed 
for  an  instant  before  she  noted  the  wistful,  childish 
droop  of  the  mouth.  The  girl  who  had  posed  for  the 
miniature,  if  she  had  been  truthfully  portrayed,  had 
not  had  all  that  she  asked  from  life. 

"Look  at  this,"  Isabel  continued. 

She  offered  Rose  a  bit  of  knitting  work,  from  which 
the  dust  of  years  fell  lightly.  It  had  once  been  white, 
and  the  needles  were  still  there,  grey  and  spotted  with 
rust.  Rose  guessed  that  the  bit  had  been  intended  for 
a  baby's  shoe,  but  never  finished.  The  little  shoe  had 
waited,  all  those  years,  for  hands  that  never  came 
back  from  the  agony  in  which  they  wrung  themselves 
to  death  in  the  room  beyond. 

The  infinite  pity  of  it  stirred  Rose  to  quick  tears, 
but  Isabel  was  unmoved.  "Here's  something  else," 
she  said. 

She  shook  the  dust  from  an  old-fashioned  daguer 
reotype  case,  then  opened  it.  On  the  left  side  was  a 
young  soldier  in  uniform,  full  length — a  dashing, 
handsome  figure  with  one  hand  upon  a  drawn  sword. 
Printed  in  faded  gilt  upon  the  dusty  red  satin  that 
made  up  the  other  half  of  the  case,  the  words  were 
still  distinct:  "To  Colonel  Richard  Kent,  from  his 
friend,  Jean  Bernard." 

"Jean  Bernard!"  Isabel  repeated,  curiously.  "Who 
was  he?" 

"Aunt  Francesca's  husband,"  answered  Rose,  with 
a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  "and  my  uncle.  He  died  in 
the  War." 

"Oh,"  said  Isabel,  unmoved.  "He  was  nice  look 
ing,  wasn't  he?  Shall  we  take  this  to  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"You  forget  that  it  isn't  ours  to  take,"  Rose  re 
minded  her.  "And,  by  the  way,  Isabel,  you  must 


22  ©l&  Hose  an&  Silver 

never  speak  to  Aunt  Francesca  of  her  husband.  She 
cannot  bear  it." 

"  All  right, "  assented  the  girl.    "  What  is  this?  " 

From  the  back  of  the  drawer  she  took  out  a  bronze 
medal,  with  a  faded  ribbon  of  red,  white,  and  blue 
attached  to  it.  She  took  it  to  the  light,  rubbed  it 
with  her  handkerchief,  and  slowly  made  out  the 
words:  "Awarded  to  Colonel  Richard  Kent,  for 
conspicuous  bravery  in  action  at  Gettysburg. " 

"Put  the  things  back,"  Rose  suggested,  gently. 

This  tiny,  secret  drawer,  Colonel  Kent's  holy  of 
holies,  symbolised  and  epitomised  the  best  of  a  man's 
life.  The  medal  for  military  service,  the  miniature  of 
his  wife,  the  picture  of  his  friend,  and  the  bit  of  knit 
ting  work  that  comprehended  a  world  of  love  and 
anguish  and  bereavement — these  were  the  hidden 
chambers  of  his  heart. 

Isabel  took  up  the  miniature  again  before  she 
closed  the  drawer.  "Do  you  suppose  those  are 
diamonds?" 

"No; 'only  brilliants." 

"  I  thought  so.  If  they'd  been  diamonds,  he  would 
never  have  left  them  here. " 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Rose,  "I'm  very  sure 
he  would."  She  had  met  Colonel  Kent  only  a  few 
times,  years  ago,  during  the  Summer  he  had  spent  at 
home  while  Allison  was  still  abroad,  but  she  knew  him 
now,  nevertheless. 

They  went  on  through  the  house,  making  notes  of 
what  was  needed,  while  their  footsteps  echoed  and 
re-echoed  through  the  empty  rooms.  "I'm  glad  there 
are  no  carpets,  except  on  the  stairs,"  said  Rose,  "for 
rugs  are  much  easier  to  clean.  It  resolves  itself 
simply  into  three  C's — coal,  curtains,  and  cleaning. 


TOelcome  l>ome  23 

It  won't  take  long,  if  we  can  get  enough  people  to 
work  at  it. " 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  they  went  downstairs, 
but  the  cold  slanting  sunbeams  of  a  Winter  after 
noon  came  through  the  grimy  windows  and  illumined 
the  gloomy  depths  of  the  open  fireplace  in  the  hall. 
Motes  danced  in  the  beam,  and  the  house  somehow 
seemed  less  despairing,  less  alone.  A  portrait  of 
Colonel  Kent,  in  uniform,  hung  above  the  great 
mantel.  Rose  smiled  at  it  with  comprehension,  but 
the  painted  lips  did  not  answer,  nor  the  unseeing  eyes 
swerve  from  their  steady  searching  of  Beyond. 

"How  was  it?"  asked  Madame,  when  they  reached 
home.  "  Dirty  and  bad?  " 

"Rather  soiled,"  admitted  Rose. 

"And  colder  than  Greenland,"  Isabel  continued, 
warming  her  hands  at  the  open  fire. 

"We'll  soon  change  all  that, "  Madame  said.  " I've 
ordered  coal  and  engaged  people  to  do  the  cleaning 
since  you've  been  gone,  and  I  have  my  eye  upon  two 
permanent  retainers,  provided  their  references  are 
satisfactory." 

"I've  measured  for  all  the  curtains, "  Rose  went  on. 
"Shall  we  make  them  or  buy  them?" 

"We'll  make  them.  If  we  have  help  enough  we 
can  get  them  done  in  time. " 

The  following  day  a  small  army,  with  Rose  at  the 
head  of  it,  took  possession  of  the  house.  Every  night 
she  came  home  exhausted,  not  from  actual  toil,  but 
from  the  effort  to  instil  the  pride  of  good  service  into 
unwilling  workers  who  seemed  to  rejoice  in  ignorance. 

"I'm  tired,"  Rose  remarked,  one  night.  "I've 
cerebrated  all  day  for  seven  bodies  besides  my  own 
and  I  find  it  wearing. " 


24  ©K>  "Rose  an&  Silver 

"I  don't  wonder,"  answered  Madame.  "I'll  go 
over  to-morrow  and  let  you  rest. " 

"Indeed  you  won't,"  declared  Rose,  with  emphasis. 
"I've  begun  it  and  I'm  going  to  finish  it  unless  the 
Seven  Weary  Workers  fail  me  absolutely. " 

At  last  the  task  was  completed,  and  even  Rose 
could  find  no  speck  of  dust  in  the  entire  establishment. 
The  house  was  fresh  with  the  smell  of  soap-suds  and 
floor  wax  and  so  warm  that  several  windows  had  to  be 
kept  open.  The  cablegram  had  come  while  the  cur 
tains  were  being  made,  but  everything  was  ready 
two  days  before  the  wayfarers  could  possibly  reach 
home. 

On  the  appointed  day,  Rose  and  Isabel  were  almost 
as  excited  as  Madame  Bernard  herself.  She  had 
chosen  to  go  over  alone  to  greet  the  Colonel  and  his 
son.  They  were  expected  to  arrive  about  four  in  the 
afternoon. 

At  three,  Madame  set  forth  in  her  carriage.  She 
wore  her  best  gown,  of  lavender  cre"pe,  trimmed  with 
real  lace,  and  a  bunch  of  heliotrope  at  her  belt.  Rose 
had  twined  a  few  sprays  of  heliotrope  into  her  snowy 
hair,  and  a  large  amethyst  cross  hung  from  her  neck  by 
a  slender  silver  chain.  She  wore  no  other  jewels 
except  her  wedding-ring. 

Fires  blazed  cheerily  in  every  fireplace  on  the 
lower  floor,  and  there  was  another  in  the  sitting-room 
upstairs.  She  had  filled  the  house  with  the  flowers  of 
Spring — violets,  daffodils,  and  lilies  of  the  valley.  A 
silver  tea-kettle  with  a  lamp  under  it  waited  on  the 
library  table. 

When  she  heard  the  wheels  creaking  in  the  snowy 
road,  Madame  lighted  the  lamp  under  the  kettle  with 
her  own  hands,  then  opened  the  door  wide.  Followed 


tdelcome  l)omc  25 

by  their  baggage,  the  two  men  came  up  the  walk — 
father  and  son. 

The  Colonel  was  a  little  older,  possibly,  but  still 
straight  and  tall — almost  as  tall  as  the  son  who 
walked  beside  him,  carrying  a  violin  case  under  his 
arm.  He  wore  the  familiar  slouch  hat,  the  same  loose 
overcoat,  and  the  same  silvery  goatee,  trimmed  most 
carefully.  His  blue  eyes  lighted  up  warmly  at  the 
sight  of  the  figure  in  the  doorway. 

"Welcome  home!"  cried  Madame  Francesca, 
stretching  a  hand  toward  each.  "Welcome  home!" 

Allison  only  smiled,  taking  the  little  hand  in  his 
strong  young  clasp,  but  his  father  bent,  hat  in  hand, 
to  kiss  the  one  she  offered  him. 

"Oh, "  cried  Madame,  "I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  both. 
Come  in!" 

They  entered  their  own  hospitable  house,  where 
fires  blazed  and  the  kettle  sang.  "  Say, "  said  Allison, 
"isn't  this  great!  Why  did  we  ever  leave  it?  Isn't 
it  fine,  Father?" 

But  "father"  still  had  his  eyes  upon  the  dainty 
little  lady  who  had  brought  forth  the  miracle  of  home 
from  a  wilderness  of  dust  and  ashes.  He  bent  again 
over  the  small,  white  hand. 

"A  woman,  a  fire,  and  a  singing  kettle,"  he  said, 
"All  the  dear,  familiar  spirits  of  the  house  to  welcome 
us  home." 


Ill 

Cbe  IDoice  of  tbe  Violin 

MADAME  BERNARD  and  Isabel  had  not  yet  come  down 
when  Rose  entered  the  living-room,  half  an  hour  before 
dinner.  The  candles  were  lighted,  and  in  the  soft 
glow  of  the  reading  lamp  was  a  vase  of  pink  roses,  sent 
by  Colonel  Kent  to  his  old  friend.  The  delicate 
sweetness  filled  the  room  and  mingled  with  the  faint 
scent  of  attar  of  roses  and  dried  rose  petals  which,  as 
always,  hung  about  the  woman  who  stood  by  the  table, 
idly  rearranging  the  flowers. 

The  ruby  ring  caught  the  light  and  sent  tiny 
crimson  gleams  dancing  into  the  far  shadows.  Her 
cre'pe  gown  was  almost  the  colour  of  the  ruby,  warm 
and  blood-red.  It  was  cut  low  at  the  throat,  and  an 
old  Oriental  necklace  of  wonderfully  wrought  gold  was 
the  only  ornament  she  wore,  aside  from  the  ring.  The 
low  light  gave  the  colour  of  the  gown  back  to  her 
face,  beautiful  as  always,  and  in  her  dusky  hair  she 
had  a  single  crimson  rose. 

Aunt  Francesca  had  said  that  the  Colonel  was  very 
much  pleased  with  the  house  and  glad  to  be  at  home 
again.  She  had  sent  over  her  own  cook  to  prepare 
their  first  dinner,  which,  however,  she  had  declined  to 
share,  contenting  herself  with  ordering  a  feast  suited 
to  the  Colonel's  taste.  To-night,  they  were  to  dine 
with  her  and  meet  the  other  members  of  her  household. 

26 


TTbe  Doice  of  tbe  liNolfn  27 

Madame  came  in  gowned  in  lustreless  white,  with 
heliotrope  at  her  belt  and  in  her  hair.  She  wore  a 
quaintly  wrought  necklace  of  amethysts  set  in  silver, 
and  silver  buckles,  set  with  amethysts,  on  her  white 
shoes.  More  than  once  Rose  had  laughingly  accused 
her  of  being  vain  of  her  feet. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  vain?"  she  had  retorted,  in 
self-defence.  "Aren't  they  pretty?" 

"Of  course  they  are,"  smiled  Rose,  bending  down 
to  kiss  her.  "They're  the  prettiest  little  feet  in  all 
the  world." 

Madame's  fancy  ran  seriously  to  shoes  and  stock 
ings,  of  which  she  had  a  marvellous  collection.  Silk 
stockings  in  grey  and  white,  and  in  all  shades  of 
lavender  and  purple,  embroidered  and  plain,  with 
shoes  to  match  in  satin  and  suede,  occupied  a  goodly 
space  in  her  wardrobe.  At  Christmas-time  and  on  her 
birthday,  Rose  always  gave  her  more,  for  it  was  the 
one  gift  which  could  never  fail  to  please. 

"How  lovely  the  house  is,"  said  Madame,  looking 
around  appreciatively.  "I  hope  the  dinner  will  be 
good." 

"I've  never  known  it  to  be  otherwise,"  Rose 
assured  her. 

"Am  I  all  right?    Is  my  skirt  even?" 

"You  are  absolutely  perfect,  Aunt  Francesca." 

"Then  play  to  me,  my  dear.  If  my  outward 
semblance  is  in  keeping,  please  put  my  mind  into  a 
holiday  mood. " 

Rose  ran  her  fingers  lightly  over  the  keys.  "What 
shall  I  play?" 

"Anything  with  a  tune  to  it,  and  not  too  loud.*' 

Smiling,  Rose  began  one  of  the  simple  melodies  that 
Aunt  Francesca  loved : 


TRose  ant>  Silver 


Suddenly,  she  turned  away  from  the  piano.  Her 
elbow,  falling  upon  the  keys,  made  a  harsh  dissonance. 
"  Isabel,  my  dear! "  she  cried.  "Aren't  you  almost  too 
gorgeous?" 

The  girl  stood  in  the  open  door,  framed  like  a 
portrait,  against  the  dull  red  background  of  the  hall. 
Her  gown  was  white  net,  shot  and  spangled  with 
silver,  over  lustrous  white  silk.  A  comb,  of  filigree 
silver,  strikingly  lovely  in  her  dark  hair,  was  her  only 
ornament  except  a  large  turquoise,  set  in  dull  silver, 
at  her  throat. 

"I'm  not  overdressed,  am  I?"  she  asked,  with  an 
eager  look  at  Madame. 

"Not  if  it  suits  you.    Come  here,  dear. " 

Isabel  obeyed,  turning  around  slowly  for  inspection. 
Almost  instantly  it  was  evident  that  Madame  ap- 


ttbe  IDoice  of  tbe  Diolin  29 

proved.  So  did  Rose,  after  she  saw  how  the  gown 
made  Isabel's  eyes  sparkle  and  brought  out  the 
delicate  fairness  of  her  skin. 

"You  do  suit  yourself;  there's  no  question  about 
that,  but  you're  gorgeous,  nevertheless."  Thus  Rose 
made  atonement  for  her  first  impulsive  speech. 

Mr.  Boffin  came  in,  with  a  blue  ribbon  around  his 
neck,  and  helped  himself  to  Aunt  Francesca's  chair. 
Isabel  rocked  him  and  he  got  down,  without  undue 
haste.  He  marched  over  to  a  straight-backed  chair 
with  a  cushion  in  it;  glared  at  Isabel  for  a  moment 
with  his  inscrutable  topaz  eyes,  then  began  to 
purr. 

The  clock  chimed  seven  silvery  notes.  Madame 
Bernard  waved  her  white  lace  fan  impatiently.  "It's 
the  psychological  moment,"  Rose  observed.  "Why 
don't  they  come?" 

"It's  Allison's  fault,  if  they're  late,"  Madame 
assured  her.  "I  could  always  set  my  watch  by  the 
Colonel.  He — there,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  she  con 
cluded  triumphantly,  as  footsteps  sounded  outside. 

When  the  guests  were  ushered  in,  Madame  ad 
vanced  to  meet  them.  The  firelight  had  brought  a 
rosy  glow  to  her  lovely  face,  and  her  deep  eyes  smiled. 
Allison  put  his  violin  case  in  a  corner  before  he  spoke 
to  her. 

"Did  you  really?"  asked  Madame.  "How  kind 
you  are!" 

"I  brought  it,"  laughed  the  young  man,  "just 
because  you  didn't  ask  me  to." 

"Do  you  always,"  queried  Rose,  after  he  had  been 
duly  presented  to  her,  "do  the  things  you're  not  asked 
to  do?" 

"Invariably,"  he  replied. 


30  ®ld  TRose  an&  Silver 

"Allison,"  said  Madame,  "I  want  you  to  meet  my 
niece  once  removed — Miss  Ross."  The  Colonel  had 
already  bowed  to  Isabel  and  was  renewing  his  old 
acquaintance  with  Rose. 

"Not  Isabel,"  said  Allison,  in  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  girl,  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
excitement,  "it's  Isabel." 

"Why,  little  playmate,  how  did  you  ever  dare  to 
grow  up?" 

"  I  had  nothing  else  to  do. " 

"But  I  didn't  want  you  to  grow  up,"  he  objected. 

"You've  grown  up  some  yourself,"  she  retorted. 

"I  suppose  I  have, "  he  sighed.  "What  a  pity  that 
the  clock  won't  stand  still!" 

Yet,  to  Madame,  he  did  not  seem  to  have  changed 
much.  He  was  taller,  and  more  mature  in  every  way, 
of  course.  She  noted  with  satisfaction  that  he  had 
gained  control  of  his  hands  and  feet,  but  he  had  the 
same  boyish  face,  the  same  square,  well-moulded  chin, 
and  the  same  nice  brown  eyes.  Only  his  slender, 
nervous  hands  betrayed  the  violinist. 

"Well,  are  you  pleased  with  me?"  he  asked  of 
Madame,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  faint  flush.  "If  you 
had  worn  long  hair  and  a  velvet  collar,  I  should  never 
have  forgiven  you." 

Colonel  Kent  laughed  outright.  "I  should  never 
have  dared  to  bring  him  back  to  you,  Francesca,  if 
he  had  fallen  so  low.  We're  Americans,  and  please 
God,  we'll  stay  Americans,  won't  we,  lad?" 

"You  bet,"  answered  Allison,  boyishly,  going  over 
to  salute  Mr.  Boffin.    "  'But  in  spite  of  all  tempta 
tions  to  belong  to  other  nations,  I'm  an  Am-er-i-can, ' ' 
he  sang,  under  his  breath.    Through  the  mysterious 


Ube  IDofce  of  tbe  IDtoltn  31 

workings  of  some  sixth  sense,  Mr.  Boffin  perceived 
approaching  trouble  and  made  a  hurried  escape. 

"Will  you  look  at  that?"  asked  Allison,  with  a 
hearty  laugh.  "I  hadn't  even  touched  him  and  he 
became  suspicious  of  me. " 

"As  I  remember,"  Madame  said,  "my  cats  never 
got  on  very  well  with  you. " 

"I  don't  like  them  either,"  put  in  Isabel. 

"I  like  'em, "  Allison  said.  "I  like  'em  a  whole  lot, 
but  it  isn't  mutual,  and  I  never  could  understand 
why." 

At  dinner,  it  seemed  as  though  they  all  talked  at 
once.  Madame  and  the  Colonel  had  a  separate 
conversation  of  their  own,  while  Allison  "reminisced" 
with  Isabel,  as  he  said,  and  asked  numerous  questions 
of  Rose  in  regard  to  the  neighbours. 

"Please  tell  me, "  he  said,  "what  has  become  of  the 
Crosby  twins?" 

"They're  flourishing,"  Rose  answered. 

"You  don't  mean  it!  What  little  devils  they 
were!" 

"Are, "  corrected  Rose. 

"Who  are  the  Crosby  twins?"  inquired  Isabel. 

"They'll  probably  call  on  you,"  Rose  replied,  "so 
I  won't  spoil  it  by  endeavouring  to  describe  them. 
The  language  fails  to  do  them  justice. " 

"What  were  their  names?"  mused  Allison.  "Let 
me  see.  Oh,  yes,  Romeo  and  Juliet. " 

"  'Rotnie'  and  'Jule'  by  affectionate  abbrevia 
tion,  to  each  other,"  Rose  added.  "Did  you  know 
that  an  uncle  died  in  Australia  and  left  them  a  small 
fortune?" 

"No,  I  didn't.    What  are  they  doing  with  it?" 

"Do  you  remember,  when  you  were  a  child,  how 


1Rose  ant)  Silver 


you  used  to  plan  what  you'd  do  with  unlimited 
wealth?" 

Allison  nodded. 

"Well,"  Rose  resumed,  "that's  just  what  they're 
doing  with  it.  They  have  only  the  income  now,  but 
this  Fall,  when  they're  twenty-one,  they'll  come  into 
possession  of  the  principal.  I  prophesy  bankruptcy 
in  five  years.  " 

"Even  so,"  he  smiled,  "they'll  doubtless  have 
pleasant  memories.  " 

"What  satisfaction  do  you  think  there  will  be  in 
that?"  queried  Isabel. 

"I  can't  answer  just  now,"  Allison  replied,  "but 
the  minute  I'm  bankrupt,  I'll  come  and  tell  you.  It's 
likely  to  happen  to  me  at  any  time.  " 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Kent  was  expressing  the  pleas 
ure  he  had  found  in  his  well-appointed,  household. 
"Was  it  very  much  trouble,  Francesca?" 

"None  at  all  —  to  me." 

"You  always  were  wonderful." 

"You  see,"  she  smiled,  "I  didn't  do  it.  Rose  did 
everything.  I  merely  went  over  at  the  last  to  arrange 
the  flowers,  make  the  tea,  and  receive  the  credit.  " 

"And  to  welcome  us  home,  "  he  added.  "They  say 
a  fireplace  is  the  heart  of  a  house,  but  I  think  a  woman 
is  the  soul  of  it.  " 

"Then  the  soul  of  it  was  there,  waiting,  wasn't  it?" 

"But  only  for  a  little  while,"  he  sighed.  "I  am 
very  lonely  sometimes,  in  spite  of  the  boy.  " 

Francesca's  blue  eyes  became  misty.  "When  a 
door  in  your  heart  is  closed,  "  she  said,  "turn  the  key 
and  go  away.  Opening  it  only  brings  pain.  " 

"I  know,"  he  answered,  clearing  his  throat. 
"You've  told  me  that  before  and  I've  often  thought 


Ube  IDofce  of  tbe  IDiolin  33 

of  it.  Yet  sometimes  it  seems  as  though  all  of  life 
was  behind  that  door. " 

"Ah,  but  it  isn't.  Your  son  and  at  least  one  true 
friend  are  outside.  Listen!" 

"No,"  Allison  was  saying,  "I  got  well  acquainted 
with  surprisingly  few  people  over  there.  You  see,  I 
always  chummed  with  Dad." 

"Bless  him, "  said  Francesca,  impulsively. 

"Have  I  done  well?"  asked  the  Colonel,  anxiously. 
"It  was  hard  work,  alone." 

"Indeed  you  have  done  well.  I  hear  that  he  is  a 
great  artist. " 

"He's  more  than  that — he's  a  man.  He's  clean  and 
a  good  shot,  and  he  isn't  afraid  of  anything.  Someway, 
to  me,  a  man  who  played  the  fiddle  always  seemed, 
well — ladylike,  you  know.  But  Allison  isn't. " 

"No,"  answered  Francesca,  demurely,  "he  isn't. 
Do  I  infer  that  it  is  a  disgrace  to  be  ladylike?  " 

"Not  for  a  woman,"  laughed  the  Colonel.  "Why 
do  you  pretend  to  misunderstand  me?  You  always 
know  what  I  mean. " 

After  dinner,  when  the  coffee  had  been  served, 
Allison  took  out  his  violin,  of  his  own  accord.  "You 
haven't  asked  me  to  play,  but  I'm  going  to.  Who  is 
going  to  play  my  accompaniment?  Don't  all  speak 
at  once. " 

Rose  went  to  the  piano  and  looked  over  his  music. 
"I'll  try.  Fortunately  I'm  familiar  with  some  of 
this." 

His  first  notes  came  with  a  clearness  and  authority 
for  which  she  was  wholly  unprepared.  She  followed  the 
accompaniment  almost  perfectly,  but  mechanically, 
lost  as  she  was  in  the  wonder  and  delight  of  his  play 
ing.  The  exquisite  harmony  seemed  to  be  the  inmost 


34  ®l&  "Rose  an&  Sflver 

soul  of  the  violin,  speaking  at  last,  through  forgotten 
ages,  of  things  made  with  the  world — Love  and  Death 
and  Parting.  Above  it  and  through  it  hovered  a  spirit 
of  longing,  infinite  and  untranslatable,  yet  clear  as 
some  high  call. 

Subtly,  Rose  answered  to  it.  In  some  mysterious 
way,  she  seemed  set  free  from  bondage.  Unsuspected 
fetters  loosened;  she  had  a  sense  of  largeness,  of  free 
dom  which  she  had  never  known  before.  She  was 
quivering  in  an  ecstasy  of  emotion  when  the  last  chord 
came. 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence,  then  Isabel  spoke. 
"How  well  you  play!"  she  said,  politely. 

"I  ought  to,"  Allison  replied,  modestly.  "I've 
worked  hard  enough. " 

"  How  long  have  you  been  studying?  " 

"Thirty  years, "  he  answered.  "That  is,  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  been  at  work  all  my  life. " 

"How  funny!"  exclaimed  Isabel.  "Are  you 
thirty?" 

"Just,  "he  said. 

"Then  Cousin  Rose  and  I  are  like  steps,  with  you 
half  way  between  us.  I'm  twenty  and  she's  forty," 
smiled  Isabel,  with  childlike  frankness. 

Rose  bit  her  lips,  then  the  colour  flamed  into  her 
face.  "Yes,"  she  said,  to  break  an  awkward  pause, 
"I'm  forty.  Old  Rose,"  she  added,  with  a  forced 
smile. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Allison  quickly.  "How  can  a 
rose  be  old?" 

"Or,"  continued  the  Colonel,  with  an  air  of  old- 
world  gallantry,  "how  can  earth  itself  be  any  older, 
having  borne  so  fair  a  rose  upon  its  breast  for  forty 
years?" 


IDofce  of  tbe  Wolin  35 

"Thank  you  both, "  responded  Rose,  her  high  colour 
receding .  ' '  Shall  we  play  again  ? ' ' 

While  they  were  turning  over  the  music  Madame 
grappled  with  a  temptation  to  rebuke  Isabel  then 
and  there.  "Not  fit  for  a  parlour  yet,"  she  thought. 
"Ought  to  be  in  the  nursery  on  a  bread-and-milk  diet 
and  put  to  bed  at  six. " 

For  her  part,  Isabel  dimly  discerned  that  she  had 
said  something  awkward,  and  felt  vaguely  uncom 
fortable.  She  was  sorry  if  she  had  made  a  social 
mistake  and  determined  to  apologise  afterward, 
though  she  disliked  apologies. 

Allison  was  playing  again,  differently,  yet  in  the 
same  way.  Through  the  violin  sounded  the  same  high 
call  to  Rose.  Life  assumed  a  new  breadth  and  value,  as 
from  a  newly  discovered  dimension.  She  had  been 
in  it,  yet  not  of  it,  until  now.  She  was  merged  in 
sensibly  with  something  vast  and  universal,  finite  yet 
infinite,  unknown  and  undreamed-of  an  hour  ago. 

She  was  quite  pale  when  they  finished.  "You're 
tired, "  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry. " 

"I'm  not,"  she  denied,  vigorously. 

"But  you  are,"  he  insisted.  "Don't  you  suppose 
I  can  see?"  His  eyes  met  hers  for  the  moment, 
clearly,  and,  once  more,  she  answered  an  unspoken 
summons  in  some  silent  way.  The  room  turned 
slowly  before  her;  their  faces  became  white  spots  in  a 
mist. 

"You  play  well, "  Allison  was  saying.  "  I  wish  you'd 
let  me  work  with  you. " 

"I'll  be  glad  to,"  Rose  answered,  with  lips  that 
scarcely  moved. 

"Will  you  help  me  work  up  my  programmes  for  next 
season?" 


36  ©R>  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

"Indeed  I  will.  Don't  stop  now,  please — really, 
I'm  not  tired." 

While  she  was  still  protesting,  he  led  her  away  from 
the  piano  to  an  easy  chair.  " Sit  there, "  he  said,  "and 
I'll  do  the  work.  Those  accompaniments  are  heavy. " 

He  went  back  to  his  violin,  tightened  a  string, 
and  began  to  play  alone.  The  melody  was  as  delicate 
in  structure  as  the  instrument  itself,  yet  strangely  full 
of  longing.  Slowly  the  violin  gave  back  the  music  of 
which  it  was  made ;  the  wind  in  the  forest,  the  sound  of 
many  waters,  moonlight  shimmering  through  green 
aisles  of  forest,  the  mating  calls  of  Spring.  And  again, 
through,  it  all,  surged  some  great  question  to  which 
Rose  thrilled  in  unspoken  answer;  a  great  prayer, 
which,  in  some  secret  way,  she  shared. 

It  came  to  an  end  at  last  when  she  felt  that  she 
could  bear  no  more.  "  What  is  it?  "  she  forced  herself 
to  ask. 

"I  haven't  named  it,"  he  replied,  putting  down  his 
violin. 

"Is — is  it — yours?" 

"Of  course.    Why  not?" 

Isabel  came  to  the  piano  and  took  up  the  violin. 
"May  I  look  at  it?" 

"Certainly." 

She  stroked  the  brown  breasts  curiously  and 
twanged  the  strings  as  though,  it  were  a  banjo.  "  What 
make  is  it?" 

"Cremona.  Dad  gave  it  to  me  for  Christmas,  a 
long  time  ago.  It  belonged  to  an  old  man  who  died 
of  a  broken  heart. " 

"What  broke  his  heart?"  queried  Isabel,  carelessly. 

"One  of  his  hands  was  hurt  in  some  way,  and  he 
could  play  no  more. " 


Ube  Doice  of  tbe  Wolin  37 

"Not  much  to  die  of, "  Isabel  suggested,  practically. 

"Ah,  but  you  don't  know,"  he  answered,  shaking 
his  head. 

Francesca  had  leaned  forward  and  was  speaking  to 
Colonel  Kent  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  think  that  somewhere, 
in  the  House  not  Made  with  Hands,  there  is  a  young 
and  lovely  mother  who  is  very  proud  of  her  boy 
to-night. " 

The  Colonel's  fine  face  took  on  an  unwonted 
tenderness.  "I  hope  so.  She  left  me  a  sacred 
trust. " 

Francesca  crossed  the  room,  drew  the  young  man's 
tall  head  down,  and  kissed  him.  "Well  done,  dear 
foster-child.  Your  adopted  mother,  once  removed,  is 
fully  satisfied  with  you,  and  very  much  pleased  with 
herself,  being,  vicariously,  the  parent  of  a  great 
artist. " 

"I  hope  you  don't  consider  me  'raised,'  "  replied 
Allison.  "You're  not  going  to  stop  'mothering'  me, 
are  you?" 

"I  couldn't,"  was  her  smiling  assurance.  "I've 
got  the  habit." 

He  seemed  verv  young  as  he  looked  down  at  her. 
Woman-like  she  loved  him,  through  the  man  that  he 
was,  for  the  child  that  he  had  been. 

"Come,  lad,"  the  Colonel  suggested,  "it's  getting 
late  and  we  want  to  be  invited  again. " 

Allison  closed  his  violin  case  with  a  snap,  said  good 
night  to  Aunt  Francesca,  then  went  over  to  Rose. 
"I  don't  feel  like  calling  you  'Miss  Bernard,'  '  he 
said.  "Mayn't  I  say  'Cousin  Rose,'  as  we  rejoice  in 
the  possession  of  the  same  Aunt?" 

"Surely,"  she  answered,  colouring  faintly. 

"Then  good-night,  Cousin  Rose.    I'll  see  you  soon 


38  ©to  IRose  ant)  Silver 

again,  and  we'll  begin  work.  Your  days  of  leisure  are 
over  now." 

Isabel  offered  him  a  small,  cool  hand.  Her  eyes 
were  brilliant,  brought  out  by  the  sparkling  silver  of 
her  gown.  She  glittered  even  in  the  low  light  of  the 
room.  "Good-night,  Silver  Girl,"  he  said.  "You 
haven't  really  grown  up  after  all. " 

When  the  door  closed,  Rose  gathered  up  the  music 
he  had  forgotten,  and  put  it  away.  Isabel  came  to  her 
contritely.  "Cousin  Rose,  I'm  so  sorry  I  said  that! 
I  didn't  think!" 

"Don't  bother  about  it,"  Rose  replied,  kindly. 
"It  was  nothing  at  all,  and,  besides,  it's  true." 

"  'Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the family,'  " 

misquoted  Madame  Bernard.  "Age  and  false  hair 
are  not  things  to  be  flaunted,  Isabel,  remember  that. " 

Isabel  flushed  at  the  rebuke,  and  her  cheeks  were 
still  burning  when  she  went  to  her  room. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  swift 
change  of  mood.  "  I'm  glad  I  told  him.  They'd  never 
have  done  it,  and  it's  just  as  well  for  him  to  know. " 

Madame  Bernard  and  Rose  soon  followed  her 
example,  but  Rose  could  not  sleep.  Through  the 
night  the  voice  of  the  violin  sounded  through  her 
consciousness,  calling,  calling,  calling — heedless  of  the 
answer  that  thrilled  her  to  the  depths  of  her  soul. 


IV 

Cbe  Crosby  Gwina 

THE  Crosby  twins  were  making  a  formal  call  upon 
Isabel.  They  had  been  skating  and  still  carried  their 
skates,  but  Juliet  wore  white  gloves  and  had  pinned 
her  unruly  hair  into  some  semblance  of  order  while 
they  waited  at  the  door.  She  wore  a  red  tam-o'- 
shanter  on  her  brown  curls  and  a  white  sweater  under 
her  dark  green  skating  costume,  which  was  short 
enough  to  show  the  heavy  little  boots,  just  now  filling 
the  room  with  the  unpleasant  odour  of  damp  leather. 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  coat?"  asked  Isabel. 
"You'll  catch  cold  when  you  go  out,  if  you  don't  take 
it  off." 

"Thanks,"  responded  Juliet,  somewhat  stiffly. 
Then  she  stretched  out  both  hands  to  her  hostess, 
laughing  as  she  did  so.  "  Look ! ' '  The  sweater  sleeves 
had  crept  up  to  her  elbows,  displaying  several  inches 
of  bare,  red  arm  between  the  sleeves  and  the  short 
white  gloves. 

"That's  just  like  us,"  remarked  Romeo.  "If  we 
try  to  be  elegant,  something  always  happens. " 

The  twins  looked  very  much  alike.  They  were 
quite  tall  and  still  retained  the  dear  awkwardness  of 
youth,  in  spite  of  the  near  approach  of  their  twenty- 
first  birthday.  They  had  light  brown  curly  hair, 
frank  blue  eyes  that  met  the  world  with  interest  and 

39 


40  ©to  1Rose  an&  Silver 

delight,  well-shaped  mouths,  not  too  small,  and  stub 
born  little  chins.  A  high  colour  bloomed  on  their 
cheeks  and  they  fairly  radiated  the  joy  of  living. 

"Can  you  skate?"  inquired  Romeo. 

"No,  "smiled  Isabel. 

"Juliet  can.  She  can  skate  as  far  as  I  can,  and 
almost  as  fast." 

"Romie  taught  me,"  observed  Juliet,  with  becom 
ing  modesty. 

"Do  you  play  hockey?  No,  of  course  you  don't, 
if  you  don't  skate,"  he  went  on,  answering  his  own 
question .  ' '  Can  you  swim  ? ' ' 

"No,"  responded  Isabel,  sweetly. 

"Jule's  a  fine  swimmer.  She  saved  a  man's  life 
once,  two  Summers  ago." 

"Romie  taught  me,"  said  Juliet,  beaming  at  her 
brother. 

"Can  you  row?"  he  asked,  politely. 

"No,"  replied  Isabel,  shortly.  "I'm  afraid  of  the 
water." 

"Juliet  can  row.  She  won  the  women's  canoe  race 
in  the  regatta  last  Summer.  The  prize  was  twenty- 
five  dollars  in  gold. " 

"Romie  taught  me,"  put  in  Juliet. 

"We'll  teach  you  this  Summer,"  said  Romeo,  with 
a  frank,  boyish  smile  that  showed  his  white  teeth. 

"Thank  you,"  responded  Isabel,  inwardly  vowing 
that  they  wouldn't. 

"Juliet  can  do  most  everything  I  can,"  went  on 
Romeo,  with  the  teacher's  pardonable  pride  in  his 
pupil.  "She  can  climb  a  tree  in  her  knickers,  and 
fish  and  skate  and  row  and  swim  and  fence,  and  play 
golf  and  tennis,  and  shoot,  and  dive  from  a  spring 
board,  and  she  can  ride  anything  that  has  four  legs. " 


Crosby  Tlwins  41 

"Romeo  taught  me,"  chanted  Juliet,  in  a  voice 
surprisingly  like  his  own. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause,  then  Romeo  turned 
to  his  hostess.  "  What  can  you  do?  "  he  asked,  mean 
ing  to  be  deferential.  Isabel  thought  she  detected  a 
faint  trace  of  sarcasm,  so  her  answer  was  rather  tart. 

"I  don't  do  many  of  the  things  that  men  do,"  she 
said,  "but  I  speak  French  and  German,  I  can  sing  and 
play  a  little,  sew  and  embroider,  and  trim  hats  if  I 
want  to,  and  paint  on  china,  and  do  two  fancy  dances. 
And  when  I  go  back  home,  I'm  going  to  learn  to  run  an 
automobile." 

The  twins  looked  at  each  other.  ' '  We  never  thought 
of  it, "  said  Juliet,  much  crestfallen. 

"Wonder  how  much  they  cost,"  remarked  Romeo, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Where  can  you  buy  'em  ? ' '  Juliet  inquired.  ' '  Any 
where  in  town?" 

"  I  suppose  so, "  Isabel  assented.    "  Why?  " 

"Why?"  they  repeated  together.  "We're  going  to 
buy  one  and  learn  to  run  it! " 

"You  must  have  lots  of  money,"  said  Isabel, 
enviously. 

"Loads, "  replied  Romeo,  with  the  air  of  a  plutocrat. 
"  More  than  we  can  spend. " 

"We  get  our  income  the  first  day  of  every  month, " 
explained  Juliet,  "and  put  it  into  the  bank,  but  when 
the  next  check  comes,  there's  always  some  left." 
They  seemed  to  consider  it  a  mild  personal  disgrace. 

"Why  don't  you  save  it?"  queried  Isabel. 

"What  for?"  Romeo  demanded,  curiously. 

"Why,  so  you'll  have  it  if  you  ever  need  it." 

"It  keeps  right  on  coming,"  Juliet  explained, 
pulling  down  her  sweater.  "Uncle  died  in  Australia 


42  ©l&  IRose  an&  Silver 

and  left  it  to  us.  He  died  on  the  thirtieth  of  June, 
and  we  always  celebrate." 

"Why  don't  you  celebrate  his  birthday?"  suggested 
Isabel,  "instead  of  the  day  he  died?" 

"His  birthday  was  no  good  to  us,"  replied  Romeo, 
"but  his  death-day  was. " 

"But  if  he  hadn't  been  born,  he  couldn't  have 
died,"  Isabel  objected,  more  or  less  logically. 

"And  if  he  hadn't  died,  his  being  born  wouldn't  have 
helped  us  any, "  replied  Juliet,  with  a  dazzling  smile. 

There  was  another  pause.  "Will  you  have  some 
tea?"  asked  Isabel. 

"With  rum  in  it?"  queried  Juliet. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Isabel,  doubtfully.  "Aunt 
Francesca  never  does." 

"We  don't,  either,"  Romeo  explained,  "except 
when  it's  very  cold,  and  then  only  a  teaspoonful. " 

"The  doctor  said  we  didn't  need  stimulants.  What 
was  it  he  said  we  needed,  Romie?  " 

"Sedatives." 

"Yes,  that  was  it — sedatives.  I  looked  it  up  in  the 
dictionary.  It  means  to  calm,  or  to  moderate.  I 
think  he  got  the  word  wrong  himself,  for  we  don't 
need  to  be  calmed,  or  moderated,  do  we,  Romie?" 

"I  should  say  not!" 

The  twins  sipped  their  tea  in  silence  and  nibbled 
daintily  at  wafers  from  the  cracker  jar.  Then,  feeling 
that  their  visit  was  over,  they  rose  with  one  accord. 

"We've  had  a  dandy  time,"  said  Juliet,  crushing 
Isabel's  hand  in  hers. 

"Bully,"  supplemented  Romeo.  "Come  and  see 
us." 

"I  will,"  Isabel  responded,  weakly.  "How  do  you 
get  there?" 


Ube  GrosbB  TTwins  43 

"Just  walk  up  the  main  road  and  turn  to  the  left. 
It's  about  three  miles. " 

' '  Three  miles ! ' '  gasped  Isabel.    "  I '11  drive  out. " 

"Just  so  you  come, "  Romeo  said,  graciously.  "  It's 
an  awful  old  place.  You'll  know  it  by  the  chimney 
being  blown  over  and  some  of  the  bricks  lying  on  the 
roof.  Good-bye." 

Juliet  turned  to  wave  her  hand  at  Isabel  as  they 
banged  the  gate,  and  Romeo  awkwardly  doffed  his 
cap.  Their  hostess  went  up-stairs  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
She  had  the  sensation  of  having  quickly  closed  a 
window  upon  a  brisk  March  wind. 

The  twins  set  their  faces  toward  home.  The  three- 
mile  walk  was  nothing  to  them,  even  after  a  day  of 
skating.  The  frosty  air  nipped  Juliet's  cheeks  to 
crimson  and  she  sniffed  at  it  with  keen  delight. 

" It's  nice  to  be  out, "  she  said,  "after  being  in  that 
hot  house.  What  do  you  think  of  her,  Romie?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  carelessly.  "Say, 
how  did  she  have  her  hair  done  up?" 

"She  had  rats  in  it,  and  it  was  curled  on  a  hot 
iron." 

"Rats?  What  in  thunder  is — or  are — that,  or 
they?" 

"Little  wads  of  false  hair  made  into  cushiony  rolls. " 

"Did  she  ten  you?" 

"No,"  laughed  Juliet.  "Don't  you  suppose  I  can 
see  a  rat?" 

"  I  thought  rats  had  to  be  smelled. " 

"Not  this  kind." 

"  She  smelled  of  something  kind  of  sweet  and  sticky. 
What  was  it?" 

"Sachet  powder,  I  guess,  or  some  kind  of  perfume. " 

"I  liked  the  smell.    Can  we  get  some?" 


44  ©K>  "Rose  anfc  Silver 

'M  guess  so — we've  got  the  price. " 

"Next  time  you  see  her,  ask  her  what  it  is,  will 
you?" 

"All  right,"  answered  Juliet,  unperturbed  by  the 
request. 

The  rest  of  the  way  was  enlivened  by  a  discussion  of 
automobiles.  Romeo  had  a  hockey  match  on  for  the 
following  day,  which  was  Saturday,  so  they  were 
compelled  to  postpone  their  investigations  until 
Monday.  It  seemed  very  long  to  wait. 

"It's  no  good  now,  anyhow,"  said  Romeo.  "We 
can't  run  it  until  the  roads  melt  and  dry  up. " 

"That's  so, "  agreed  his  twin,  despondently.  "  Why 
did  she  tell  us  now?  Why  couldn't  she  wait  until  we 
had  some  chance?" 

"  I  guess  we  can  learn  something  about  it  before  we 
try  to  run  it,"  he  observed,  cheerfully.  "If  we  can 
get  it  into  the  barn,  we  can  take  it  all  apart  and  see 
how  it's  put  together. " 

"  Oh,  Romie ! "  cried  Juliet,  with  a  little  skip.  "How 
perfectly  fascinating!  And  we'll  read  all  the  auto 
mobile  literature  we  can  get  hold  of.  I  do  so  love  to 
be  posted ! ' ' 

Upon  the  death  of  their  father,  several  years  ago, 
the  twins  had  promptly  ceased  to  go  to  school.  The 
kindly  old  minister  who  had  been  appointed  executor 
of  their  father's  small  estate  and  guardian  of  the 
tumultuous  twins  had  been  unable  to  present  any 
arguments  in  favour  of  systematic  education  which 
appealed  to  them  even  slightly. 

"What  good  is  Latin?"  asked  Romeo,  apparently 
athirst  for  information. 

"Why  —  er  —  mental  discipline,  mostly,"  the 
harassed  guardian  had  answered. 


Crosbg  Uwins  45 

"Isn't  there  anything  we'd  like  that  would  discipline 
our  minds?"  queried  Juliet. 

"I  fear  not,"  replied  the  old  man,  who  lacked  the 
diplomacy  necessary  to  deal  with  the  twins.  Shortly 
after  that  he  had  died  with  so  little  warning  that  he 
had  only  time  to  make  out  a  check  in  their  favour  for 
the  balance  entrusted  to  him.  The  twins  had  held 
high  carnival  until  the  money  was  almost  gone.  The 
bequest  from  the  Australian  uncle  had  reached  them 
just  in  time,  so,  with  thankful  hearts,  they  celebrated 
and  had  done  so  annually  ever  since. 

Untrammelled  by  convention  and  restraint,  they 
thrived  like  weeds  in  their  ancestral  domicile,  which 
was  now  sadly  in  need  of  repair.  Occasionally  some 
daring  prank  set  the  neighbourhood  by  the  ears,  but, 
for  the  most  part,  the  twins  behaved  very  well  and 
attended  strictly  to  their  own  affairs.  They  ate  when 
they  were  hungry,  slept  when  they  were  sleepy,  and,  if 
they  desired  to  sit  up  until  four  in  the  morning,  read 
ing,  they  did  so.  A  woman  who  had  a  key  to  the  back 
door  came  in  every  morning,  at  an  uncertain  hour,  to 
wash  the  dishes,  sweep,  dust,  and  to  make  the  beds  if 
they  chanced  to  be  unoccupied. 

As  Romeo  had  said,  the  chimney  had  blown  down 
and  several  loose  bricks  lay  upon  the  roof.  They  had 
a  small  vegetable  garden,  fenced  in,  and  an  itinerant 
gardener  looked  after  it,  in  Summer,  but  they  had  no 
flowers,  because  they  maintained  a  large  herd  of  stray 
dogs,  mostly  mongrels,  that  would  have  had  no  home 
had  it  not  been  for  the  hospitable  twins.  Romeo 
bought  the  choicest  cuts  of  beef  for  them  and  fed 
them  himself.  Occasionally  they  added  another  to 
their  collection  and,  at  the  last  census,  had  nineteen. 

Their  house  would  have  delighted  Madame  Ber- 


46  ©ID  "Rose  ant)  Silver 

nard — it  was  so  eminently  harmonious  and  suitable. 
The  ragged  carpets  showed  the  floor  in  many  places, 
and  there  were  no  curtains  at  any  of  the  windows. 
Romeo  cherished  a  masculine  distaste  for  curtains  and 
Juliet  did  not  trouble  herself  to  oppose  him.  The 
furniture  was  old  and  most  of  it  was  broken.  The 
large  easy  chair  in  the  sitting-room  was  almost 
disembowelled,  and  springs  showed  through  the  sofa, 
except  in  the  middle,  where  there  was  a  cavernous 
depression.  Several  really  fine  paintings  adorned  the 
walls,  and  the  dingy  mantel  was  glorified  by  exquisite 
bits  of  Cloisonne"  and  iridescent  glass,  for  which 
Juliet  had  a  pronounced  fancy. 

"Set  the  table,  will  you,  Romie?"  called  Juliet, 
tying  a  large  blue  gingham  apron  over  her  sweater. 
"I'm  almost  starved. " 

"So'm  I,  but  I've  got  to  feed  the  dogs  first. " 
"Let  'em  wait,"  pleaded  Juliet.    "Please  do!" 
"Don't  be  so  selfish!    They're  worse  off  than  we 
are,  for  they  haven't  even  had  tea. " 

While  the  pack  fought,  outside,  for  rib  bones  and 
raw  steak,  Juliet  opened  a  can  of  salmon,  fried  some 
potatoes,  put  a  clean  spoon  into  a  jar  of  jam,  and  cut 
a  loaf  of  bread  into  thick  slices.  When  Romeo 
came  in,  he  set  the  table,  made  coffee,  and  opened  a 
can  of  condensed  milk.  They  disdained  to  wash 
dishes,  but  cleared  off  the  table,  after  supper,  lighted 
the  lamp,  and  talked  automobile  until  almost 
midnight. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  Romeo  had  completed  the 
plans  for  remodelling  the  barn.  They  had  no  horse, 
but  as  a  few  bits  of  harness  remained  from  the  last 
equine  incumbent,  they  usually  alluded  to  the  barn  as 
"the  bridle  chamber. " 


ZTbe  Crosby  Uwins  47 

"We'll  have  to  name  the  barn  again, "  mused  Juliet, 
"and  we  can  name  the  automobile,  too." 

"Wait  until  we  get  it.  What  colour  shall  we 
have?" 

"They're  usually  red  or  black,  aren't  they?"  she 
asked,  doubtfully. 

"I  guess  so.    We  want  ours  different,  don't  we?" 

"Sure.  We  want  something  that  nobody  ever  had 
before — something  bright  and  cheerful.  Oh,  Romie, " 
she  continued,  jumping  up  and  down  in  excitement, 
"let's  have  it  bright  yellow  and  call  it  'The  Yellow 
Peril'!" 

Her  twin  offered  her  a  friendly  hand.  "Jule,"  he 
said  solemnly,  "you're  a  genius!" 

"We'll  have  brown  leather  inside,  and  get  brown 
clothes  to  match.  Brown  hats  with  yellow  bands  on 
'em — won't  it  be  perfectly  scrumptious?" 

"Scrumptious  is  no  word  for  it.  Shall  we  have  two 
seats  or  four?" 

"Four,  of  course.  A  two-seated  automobile  looks 
terribly  selfish. " 

"Stingy,  too,"  murmured  Romeo,  "and  we  can 
afford  the  best." 

"Do  you  know,"  Juliet  suggested,  after  deep 
thought,  "  I  think  it  would  be  nice  of  us  if  we  waited 
to  take  our  first  ride  until  we  celebrate  for  Uncle?" 

"It  would,"  admitted  Romeo,  gloomily,  "but  it's 
such  a  long  time  to  wait. " 

"We  can  learn  to  run  it  here  in  the  yard — there's 
plenty  of  room.  And  on  the  thirtieth  of  June,  we'll 
take  our  first  real  ride  in  it.  Be  a  sport,  Romie, "  she 
urged,  as  he  maintained  an  unhappy  silence. 

"All  right— I  will,"  he  said,  grudgingly.  "But  I 
hope  Uncle  appreciates  what  we're  doing  for  him. " 


48  ©i&  IRose  anfc  Silver 

"That's  settled,  then,"  she  responded,  cheerfully. 
11  Then,  on  our  second  ride,  we'll  take  somebody  with 
us.  Who  shall  we  invite?" 

"Oughtn't  she  to  go  with  us  the  first  time?" 

"She?    Who's 'she'?" 

"Miss  Ross — Isabel.  She  suggested  it,  you  know. 
We  might  not  have  thought  of  it  for  years. " 

Juliet  pondered.  "I  don't  believe  she  ought  to  go 
the  first  time,  because  the  day  that  Uncle  died  doesn't 
mean  anything  to  her,  and  it's  everything  to  us.  But 
we'll  take  her  on  the  second  trip.  Shall  I  write  to  her 
now  and  invite  her?" 

"I  don't  believe,"  Romeo  responded,  dryly,  "that 
I'd  stop  to  write  an  invitation  to  somebody  to  go  out 
four  months  from  now  in  an  automobile  that  isn't 
bought  yet. " 

"But  it's  as  good  as  bought,"  objected  Juliet, 
"because  our  minds  are  made  up.  We  may  forget 
to  ask  her. " 

"Put  it  on  the  slate,"  suggested  Romeo. 

In  the  hall,  near  the  door,  was  a  large  slate  sus 
pended  by  a  wire.  The  pencil  was  tied  to  it.  Here 
they  put  down  vagrant  memoranda  and  things  they 
planned  to  acquire  in  the  near  future. 

Juliet  observed  that  there  was  only  one  entry  on 
the  slate :  "  Military  hair-brushes  for  R. "  Underneath 
she  wrote:  "Yellow  automobile,  four-seated.  Name 
it  'The  Yellow  Peril.'  Brown  leather  inside.  Get 
brown  clothes  to  match  and  trim  with  yellow.  First 
ride,  June  thirtieth,  for  Uncle.  Second  ride,  July  first, 
for  ourselves.  Invite  Isabel  Ross." 

"Anything  else?"  she  asked,  after  reading  it  aloud. 

"Dog  biscuit,"  yawned  Romeo.  "They're  eating 
too  much  meat. " 


Ube  Crosbg  Uwins  49 

It  was  very  late  when  they  went  up-stairs.  Their 
rooms  were  across  the  hall  from  each  other  and  they 
slept  with  the  doors  open.  The  attic  had  been  made 
into  a  gymnasium,  where  they  exercised  and  hardened 
their  muscles  when  the  weather  kept  them  indoors. 
A  trapeze  had  been  recently  put  up,  and  Juliet  was 
learning  to  swing  by  her  feet. 

She  lifted  her  face  up  to  his  and  received  a  brotherly 
peck  on  the  lips.  "  Good-night,  Jule. " 

41  Good-night,  Romie.    Pleasant  dreams. " 

It  was  really  morning,  but  there  was  no  clock  to  tell 
them  so,  for  the  timepieces  in  the  Crosby  mansion 
were  seldom  wound. 

"Say,  "called  Romeo. 

"What?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"Who?" 

"  Miss — you  know.    Isabel. " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Juliet,  sleepily. 
"I  guess  she's  kind  of  a  sissy-girl. " 


Tin  Hfternoon  Call 

"AUNT  FRANCESCA,"  asked  Isabel,  "is  Colonel  Kent 
rich?" 

"Very,"  responded  Madame.  She  had  a  fine 
damask  napkin  stretched  upon  embroidery  hoops  and 
was  darning  it  with  the  most  exquisite  of  stitches. 

"Then  why  don't  they  live  in  a  better  house  and 
have  more  servants?  That  place  is  old  and  musty." 

"Perhaps  they  like  to  live  there,  and,  again,  per 
haps  they  haven't  enough  money  to  change.  Besides, 
that  has  been  Colonel  Kent's  home  ever  since  he  was 
married.  Allison  was  born  there. " 

Isabel  fidgeted  in  her  chair.  "If  they're  very  rich, 
I  should  think  they'd  have  enough  money  to  enable 
them  to  move  into  a  better  house. " 

"  Oh, "  replied  Madame,  carefully  cutting  her  thread 
on  the  underside,  "I  wasn't  thinking  of  money  when 
I  spoke.  I  don't  know  anything  about  their  private 
affairs.  But  Colonel  Kent  has  courage,  sincerity,  an 
old-fashioned  standard  of  honour,  many  friends,  and 
a  son  who  is  a  great  artist. " 

The  girl  was  silent,  for  intangible  riches  did  not 
appeal  to  her  strongly. 

"Allison  is  like  him  in  many  ways,"  Madame  was 
saying.  "  He  is  like  his  mother,  too. " 

"When  is  he  going  away?" 
50 


Hn  Hfternoon  Call  51 

"In  September  or  October,  I  suppose — the  begin 
ning  of  the  season." 

"Is  he  going  to  play  everywhere?" 

"Everywhere  of  any  importance." 

"Perhaps,"  mused  Isabel,  "he  will  make  a  great 
deal  of  money  himself." 

"Perhaps,"  Madame  responded,  absently.  "I  do 
hope  he  will  be  successful. "  She  had  almost  maternal 
pride  in  her  foster  son. 

"Is  Cousin  Rose  going,  too?" 

"Going  where?    What  do  you  mean,  dear?" 

"Why,  nothing.  Only  I  heard  him  ask  her  if  she 
would  go  with  him  on  his  concert  tour  and  play  his 
accompaniments,  providing  you  or  the  Colonel  went 
along  for  chaperone,  and  Cousin  Rose  laughed  and 
said  she  didn't  need  a  chaperone — that  she  was  old 
enough  to  make  it  quite  respectable." 

"And — "  suggested  Madame. 

"Allison  laughed,  too,  and  said:  'Nonsense!' 

"If  they  are  going,"  said  Madame,  half  to  herself, 
"and  decide  to  take  me  along,  I  hope  they'll  give  me 
sufficient  time  to  pack  things  decently." 

"Would  the  Colonel  go,  if  you  went?" 

' '  I  hardly  think  so.    It  wouldn't  be  quite  so  proper. " 

"I  don't  understand,"  remarked  Isabel,  wrinkling 
her  pretty  brows. 

"I  don't  either,"  Madame  replied,  confidentially. 
"However,  I've  lived  long  enough  to  learn  that  the 
conventions  of  society  are  all  in  the  interests  of 
morality.  If  you're  conventional,  you'll  be  good,  in 
a  negative  sense,  of  course." 

"How  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"Perfect  manners  are  diametrically  opposed  to 
crime.  For  instance,  it  is  very  bad  form  for  a  man  to 


52  ©l&  IRose  anfc  Silver 

shoot  a  lady,  or  even  to  write  another  man's  name  on 
a  check  and  cash  it.  It  saves  trouble  to  be  conven 
tional,  for  you're  not  always  explaining  things.  Most 
of  the  startling  items  we  read  in  the  newspapers  are 
serious  lapses  from  conventionality  and  good  manners. ' ' 

"The  Crosbys  aren't  very  conventional,"  Isabel 
suggested. 

"No,"  smiled  Madame,  "they're  not,  but  their 
manners  proceed  from  the  most  kindly  and  friendly 
instincts,  consequently  they're  seldom  in  error, 
essentially. " 

"They  have  lots  of  money,  haven't  they?" 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  Crosbys  had 
more  than  their  age  and  social  training  fitted  them 
to  use  wisely,  but  I've  never  known  them  to  go  far 
astray.  They've  done  foolish  things,  but  I've  never 
known  either  to  do  a  wrong  or  selfish  thing.  Money 
is  a  terrible  test  of  character,  but  I  think  the  twins 
will  survive  it. " 

"I  suppose  they've  done  lots  of  funny  things  with 
it." 

Madame's  eyes  danced  and  little  smiles  wrinkled 
the  corners  of  her  mouth.  "On  the  Fourth  of  July, 
last  year,  they  presented  every  orphan  in  the  Orphans' 
Home  with  two  dollars'  worth  of  fireworks,  carefully 
chosen.  Of  course  the  inevitable  happened  and  the 
orphans  managed  to  set  fire  to  the  home,  but,  after 
two  hours  of  hard  work,  the  place  was  saved.  Some 
of  the  children  were  slightly  injured  during  the 
celebration,  but  that  didn't  matter,  because  as  Juliet 
said,  they'd  had  a  good  time,  anyway,  and  it  would 
give  them  something  to  talk  about  in  years  to  come. " 

"It  would  have  been  better  to  spend  the  money  on 
shoes,  wouldn't  it?" 


Hn  Hftetnoon  (Tall  53 

"I  don't  know,  my  dear.  The  finest  gift  in  the 
world  is  pleasure.  Sometimes  I  think  it's  better  to 
feed  the  soul  and  let  the  body  fast*  There  is  a  time  in 
life  when  one  brief  sky-rocket  can  produce  more  joy 
than  ten  pairs  of  shoes. " 

Isabel  smiled  and  glanced  at  Madame  Bernard's 
lavender  satin  slipper.  The  old  lady  laughed  and  the 
soft  colour  came  into  her  pretty  face. 

"I  frankly  admit  that  I've  passed  it,"  she  said. 
"Better  one  pair  of  shoes  than  ten  sky-rockets,  if  the 
shoes  are  the  sort  I  like. " 

"Do  they  come  often?"  queried  Isabel,  reverting 
to  the  subject  of  the  twins. 

"Not  as  often  as  I'd  like  to  have  them,  but  it 
doesn't  do  to  urge  them.  I  can  only  keep  my  windows 
open  and  let  the  wind  from  the  clover  field  blow  in  as 
it  will. " 

"  Do  they  live  near  a  clover  field?"  inquired  Isabel, 
perplexed. 

"No,  but  they  remind  me  of  it — they're  so  breezy 
and  wholesome,  so  free  and  untrammelled,  and,  at 
heart,  so  sweet." 

"I  hope  they'll  come  again  soon." 

"So  do  I,  for  I  don't  want  you  to  be  lonely,  Isabel. 
It  was  good  of  your  mother  to  let  you  come. " 

"Mamma  doesn't  care  what  I  do,"  observed 
Isabel,  placidly.  "She's  always  busy. " 

Madame  Bernard  checked  the  sharp  retort  that 
rose  to  her  lips.  What  Isabel  had  said  was  quite  true. 
Mrs.  Ross  was  so  interested  in  what  she  called  "The 
New  Thought"  and  "The  Higher  World  Service" 
that  she  had  neither  time  nor  inclination  for  the  old 
thought  and  simple  service  that  make — and  keep — a 
home. 


54  ©K>  IRose  anfc  Silver 

From  the  time  she  could  dress  herself  and  put 
up  her  own  hair,  Isabel  had  been  left  much  to  herself. 
Her  mother  supplied  her  liberally  with  money  for 
clothes  and  considered  that  her  duty  to  her  daughter 
ended  there.  They  lived  in  an  apartment  hotel  and 
had  their  coffee  served  in  their  rooms  in  the  morning. 
After  that,  Isabel  was  left  to  her  own  devices,  for 
committees  and  directors'  meetings  without  number 
claimed  her  mother. 

More  often  than  not,  Isabel  dined  alone  in  the  big 
dining-room  downstairs,  and  spent  a  lonely  evening 
with  a  novel  and  a  box  of  chocolates.  On  pleasant 
days,  she  amused  herself  by  going  through  the  shops 
and  to  the  matinee.  She  did  not  make  friends  easily, 
and  the  splendid  isolation  common  to  hotels  and 
desert  islands  left  her  stranded,  socially.  She  had 
been  very  glad  to  accept  Aunt  Francesca's  invitation, 
and  the  mother,  looking  back  through  her  years  of 
"world  service"  to  the  quiet  old  house  and  dream- 
haunted  garden,  had  thought  it  would  be  a  good  place 
for  Isabel  for  a  time,  and  had  hoped  she  might  not  find 
it  too  dull  to  endure. 

Madame  Bernard  had  no  patience  with  Mrs.  Ross. 
When  she  had  come  for  a  brief  holiday,  fifteen  years 
before,  bringing  her  child  with  her,  she  had  just 
begun  to  be  influenced  by  the  modern  feminine 
unrest.  Later  she  had  definitely  allied  herself  with 
those  whose  mission  it  is  to  emancipate  Woman — 
with  a  capital  W — from  her  chains,  forgetting  that 
these  are  of  her  own  forging,  and  anchor  her  to  the 
eternal  verities  of  earth  and  heaven. 

A  single  swift  stroke  had  freed  Mrs.  Ross  from  her 
own  "bondage."  Isabel's  father  had  died,  while  her 
mother  was  out  upon  a  lecturing  tour — in  a  hotel, 


Hn  Hf ternoon  Call  55 

which  is  the  most  miserable  place  in  the  world  to  die 
in.  The  housekeeper  and  chambermaids  had  be 
friended  Isabel  until  the  tour  came  to  its  triumphant 
conclusion.  Mrs.  Ross  had  seemed  to  consider  the 
whole  affair  a  kindly  and  appropriate  recognition  of 
her  abilities,  on  the  part  of  Providence.  She  attempted 
to  fit  Isabel  for  the  duties  of  a  private  secretary,  but 
failed  miserably,  and,  greatly  to  Isabel's  relief,  gave 
up  the  idea. 

Madame  Bernard  had  looked  forward  to  Isabel's 
visit  with  a  certain  apprehension,  remembering  Mrs. 
Ross's  unbecoming  gowns  and  careless  coiffures.  But 
the  girl's  passion  for  clothes,  amounting  almost  to  a 
complete  "reversion  to  type,"  had  at  once  relieved 
and  alarmed  her.  "  If  I  can  strike  a  balance  for  her, " 
she  had  said  to  herself  in  a  certain  midnight  musing, 
" I  shall  do  very  well." 

As  yet,  however,  Isabel  had  failed  to  "balance." 
She  dressed  for  morning  and  luncheon  and  afternoon, 
and  again  for  dinner,  changing  to  street  gowns  when 
necessary  and  doing  her  hair  in  a  different  way  for 
each  gown.  Still,  as  Rose  had  said,  she  "suited  her 
self,  "  for  she  was  always  immaculate,  beautifully  clad, 
and  a  joy  to  behold. 

Madame  Bernard  greatly  approved  of  the  lovely 
white  wool  house  gown  Isabel  was  wearing.  She  had 
no  fault  to  find  with  the  girl's  taste,  but  she  wished  to 
subordinate,  as  it  were,  the  thing  to  the  spirit;  the 
temple  to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  made. 

Isabel  smiled  at  her  sweetly  as  she  folded  up  her  work 
— a  little  uncomprehending  smile.  "Are  you  going 
away  now  for  your  'forty  winks,'  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"Yes,  my  dear.  Can  you  amuse  yourself  for  an 
hour  or  so  without  playing  upon  the  piano?" 


56  ©U>  "Rose  anfc  Stiver 

"Certainly,  I  didn't  know  that  you  and  Cousin 
Rose  were  asleep  yesterday,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
played. " 

"Of  course  not."  Madame  leaned  over  her  and 
stroked  the  dark  hair,  waved  and  coiled  in  quite  the 
latest  fashion.  "There  are  plenty  of  books  and 
magazines  in  the  library." 

Madame  went  upstairs,  followed  at  a  respectful 
distance  by  Mr.  Boffin,  waving  his  plumed  tail.  He, 
too,  took  his  afternoon  nap,  curled  up  cosily  upon  the 
silketo  quilt  at  the  foot  of  his  mistress's  couch.  In  the 
room  adjoining,  Rose  rested  for  an  hour  also,  though 
she  usually  spent  the  time  with  a  book. 

Left  to  herself,  Isabel  walked  back  and  forth  idly, 
greatly  allured  by  the  forbidden  piano.  She  looked 
over,  carelessly,  the  pile  of  violin  music  Allison  had 
left  there.  Some  of  the  sheets  were  torn  and  had  been 
pasted  together,  all  were  marked  in  pencil  with  hiero 
glyphics,  and  most  of  them  were  stamped,  in  purple, 
"Allison  Kent, "  with  a  Berlin  or  Paris  address  written 
in  below, 

Isabel  had  met  very  few  men,  in  the  course  of  her 
twenty  years.  For  this  reason,  possibly,  she  remem 
bered  every  detail  of  the  two  weeks  she  had  spent  at 
Aunt  Francesca's  and  the  hours  with  Allison,  on  the 
veranda,  when  he  chose  to  amuse  himself  with  the 
pretty,  credulous  child.  It  seemed  odd  to  have  him 
coming  to  the  house  again,  though,  unless  he  came  to 
dinner,  he  usually  spent  the  time  playing,  to  Rose's 
accompaniment.  She  had  not  seen  him  alone. 

She  surveyed  herself  in  the  long,  gilt-framed  mirror, 
and  was  well  pleased  with  the  image  of  youth  and 
beauty  the  mirror  gave  back.  The  bell  rang  and  she 
pinned  up  a  stray  lock  carefully.  It  was  probably 


Hn  Hfternoon  Call  57 

someone  to  see  Aunt  Francesca,  but  there  was  a 
pleasing  doubt.  It  might  be  the  twins,  though  she 
had  not  returned  their  call. 

Presently  Allison  came  in,  his  cheeks  glowing  from 
his  long  walk  in  the  cold.  "Silver  Girl,"  he  smiled, 
"where  are  the  spangles,  and  are  you  alone?" 

"The  spangles  are  upstairs  waiting  for  candle 
light,"  answered  Isabel,  as  he  took  her  small,  cool 
hand,  "and  I'm  very  much  alone — or  was." 

"Where  are  the  others?" 

"Taking  naps." 

"I  hope  I  haven't  tired  Rose  out,"  said  Allison, 
offering  Isabel  a  chair.  He  had  unconsciously  dropped 
the  prefix  of  "Cousin."  "We've  been  working  hard 
lately." 

" Is  she  going  with  you  on  your  tour?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  wish  she  could  go,  but  I  haven't 
the  heart  to  drag  father  or  Aunt  Francesca  along  with 
us,  and  otherwise,  it  would  be — well,  unconventional, 
you  know.  The  conventions  make  me  dead  tired," 
he  added,  with  evident  sincerity. 

"And  yet,"  said  Isabel,  looking  into  the  fire, 
"they  are  all  in  the  interests  of  morality.  If  you're 
conventional,  you'll  be  good,  negatively.  It  isn't 
good  manners  for  a  man  to  shoot  a  lady  or  to  sign  a 
check  with  another  man's  name  and  get  it  cashed. 
If  you're  conventional,  you're  not  always  explaining 
things. " 

"Very  true,"  laughed  Allison,  "but  sometimes 
the  greatest  good  for  the  greatest  number  bears 
heavily  upon  the  few." 

"Of  course, "  Isabel  agreed,  after  a  moment's  pause. 
"Your  friends,  the  Crosby  twins,  have  called,"  she 
continued. 


58  ©R>  Ktose  an&  Silver 

"  Really?  "  Allison  asked,  with  interest.  "  How  do 
you  like  them?'* 

"I  wish  they'd  come  often,"  she  smiled.  "They 
remind  me  of  a  field  of  red  clover,  they're  so  breezy 
and  so  wholesome." 

"I  must  hunt  'em  up,"  he  returned,  absently. 
"They  used  to  be  regular  little  devils.  It's  a  shame 
for  them  to  have  all  that  money. " 

"Why?" 

"Because  they'll  waste  it.  They  don't  know  how 
to  use  it." 

"Perhaps  they  do,  in  a  way.  One  Fourth  of  July 
they  gave  every  orphan  in  the  Orphans'  Home  two 
dollars'  worth  of  fireworks.  Anybody  else  would  have 
wasted  the  money  on  shoes,  or  hats. " 

"I  see  you  haven't  grown  up.  Would  you  rather 
have  fireworks  than  clothes?" 

"There  is  a  time  in  life  when  one  sky-rocket  can 
give  more  pleasure  than  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  the  gift 
of  pleasure  is  the  finest  gift  in  the  world." 

Allison  was  agreeably  surprised,  for  hitherto  Isabel's 
conversation  had  consisted  mainly  of  monosyllables 
and  platitudes,  or  the  hesitating  echo  of  someone's 
else  opinion.  Now  he  perceived  that  it  was  shyness; 
that  Isabel  had  a  mind  of  her  own,  and  an  unusual 
mind,  at  that.  He  looked  at  her  quickly  and  the 
colour  bloomed  upon  her  pale,  cold  face. 

"Tell  me,  little  playmate,  what  have  the  years  done 
for  you  since  you  went  out  and  pulled  up  the  rose 
bushes  to  find  the  scent  bottles?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered,  not  knowing  what  else 
to  say. 

"Still  looking  for  the  unattainable?" 

"Yes,  if  you  like  to  put  it  that  way." 


Hn  Hftetnoon  Call  59 

"Where's  your  mother?" 

"Out  lecturing." 

"What  about?" 

"The  Bloodless  Revolution,  or  the  Gradual  Eman 
cipation  of  Woman, "  she  repeated,  parrot-like. 

"Her  work  must  keep  her  away  from  home  a  great 
deal, "  he  ventured,  after  a  pause. 

"Yes.     I  seldom  see  her." 

"You  must  be  lonely. " 

She  turned  her  dark  eyes  to  his.  "  I  live  in  a  hotel, " 
she  said. 

In  the  simple  answer,  Allison  saw  an  unmeasured 
loneliness,  coupled  with  a  certain  loyalty  to  her 
mother.  He  changed  the  subject. 

"You  like  it  here,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  Aunt  Francesca  is  lovely  and  so  is 
Cousin  Rose.  I  wish, "  she  went  on,  with  a  little  sigh 
as  she  glanced  about  the  comfortable  room,  "that  I 
could  always  stay  here. "  The  child-like  appeal  in  her 
tone  set  Allison's  heart  to  beating  a  little  faster. 

"I  wish  you  could,"  he  said.  Remorsefully,  he 
remembered  the  long  hours  he  had  spent  with  Rose 
at  the  piano,  happily  oblivious  of  Isabel. 

"Are  you  fond  of  music?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  always  sit  outside  and  listen  when 
you  and  Cousin  Rose  play." 

"Come  in  whenever  you  want  to,"  he  responded, 
warmly. 

"Won't  I  be  in  the  way?    Won't  I  be  a  bother? " 

" I  should  say  not.    How  could  you  be?" 

"Then,"  Isabel  smiled,  "I'll  come  sometimes,  if  I 
may.  It's  the  only  pleasure  I  have. " 

"That's  too  bad.  Sometime  we'll  go  into  town  to 
the  theatre,  just  you  and  I.  Would  you  like  to  go?" 


60  ®ft  iRose  anb  Silver 

"I'd  love  to,"  she  answered,  eagerly. 

The  clock  ticked  industriously,  the  fire  crackled 
merrily  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  wind  howled  outside. 
In  the  quiet  room,  Allison  sat  and  studied  Isabel,  with 
the  firelight  shining  upon  her  face  and  her  white  gown. 
She  seemed  much  younger  than  her  years. 

"You're  only  a  child,"  he  said,  aloud;  "a  little, 
helpless  child." 

"  How  long  do  you  think  it  will  be  before  I'm  grown 
up?" 

"I  don't  want  you  to  grow  up.  I  can  remember 
now  just  how  you  looked  the  day  I  told  you  about 
the  scent  bottles.  You  had  on  a  pink  dress,  with  a 
sash  to  match,  pink  stockings,  little  white  shoes  with 
black  buttons,  and  the  most  fetching  white  sun- 
bonnet.  Your  hair  was  falling  in  curls  all  round  your 
face  and  it  was  such  a  warm  day  that  the  curls  clung 
to  your  neck  and  annoyed  you.  You  toddled  over  to 
me  and  said:  'Allison,  please  fix  my's  turls.'  Don't 
you  remember?  " 

She  smiled  and  said  she  had  forgotten.  "But, "  she 
added,  truthfully,  "I've  often  wondered  how  I  looked 
when  I  was  dressed  up." 

"Then,"  he  continued,  "I  told  you  how  the  scent 
bottles  grew  on  the  roots  of  the  rose  bushes,  and,  after 
I  went  home,  you  went  and  pulled  up  as  many  as  you 
could.  Aunt  Francesca  was  very  angry  with  me." 

"Yes,  I  remember  that.  I  felt  as  though  you  were 
being  punished  for  my  sins.  It  was  years  afterward 
that  I  saw  I'd  been  sufficiently  punished  myself. 
Look!" 

She  lear  id  toward  him  and  showed  him  a  narrow 
white  line  on  the  soft  flesh  between  her  forefinger  and 
her  thumb,  extending  back  over  her  hand. 


Hn  Bfternoon  Call  61 

"A  thorn, "  she  said.  "  I  shall  cany  the  scar  to  my 
dying  day. " 

With  a  little  catch  in  his  throat,  Allison  caught 
the  little  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  "Foxgive 
me!"  he  said. 


VI 
liflbt  on  tbe  Hitar 

COLONEL  KENT  had  gone  away  on  a  short  business 
trip  and  Allison  was  spending  his  evenings,  which 
otherwise  would  have  been  lonely,  at  Madame  Ber 
nard's.  After  talking  for  a  time  with  Aunt  Francesca 
and  Isabel,  it  seemed  natural  for  him  to  take  up  his 
violin  and  suggest,  if  only  by  a  half-humorous  glance, 
that  Rose  should  go  to  the  piano. 

Sometimes  they  played  for  their  own  pleasure  and 
sometimes  worked  for  their  own  benefit.  Neither 
Madame  nor  Isabel  minded  hearing  the  same  thing  a 
dozen  times  or  more  in  the  course  of  an  evening,  for, 
as  Madame  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  blue  eyes,  it 
made  "a  pleasant  noise,"  and  Isabel  did  not  trouble 
herself  to  listen. 

Both  Rose  and  Allison  were  among  the  fortunate 
ones  who  find  joy  in  work.  Rose  was  so  keenly 
interested  in  her  music  that  she  took  no  count  of  the 
hours  spent  at  the  piano,  and  Allison  fully  appreciated 
her.  It  had  been  a  most  pleasant  surprise  for  him  to 
find  a  good  accompanist  so  near  home. 

The  discouraging  emptiness  of  life  had  mysteriously 
vanished  for  Rose.  Her  restlessness  disappeared  as 
though  by  magic  and  her  indefinite  hunger  had  been, 
in  some  way,  appeased.  She  had  unconsciously 
emerged  from  one  state  into  another,  as  the  tiny 

62 


Xigbt  on  tbe  Hltar  63 

dwellers  of  the  sea  cast  off  their  shells.  She  had  a 
sense  of  freedom  and  a  large  vision,  as  of  dissonances 
resolved  into  harmony. 

Clothes,  also,  which,  as  Madame  had  said,  are 
"supposed  to  please  and  satisfy  women,"  had  taken 
to  themselves  a  new  significance.  Rose  had  made 
herself  take  heed  of  her  clothes,  but  she  had  never  had 
much  real  interest.  Now  she  was  glad  of  the  time  she 
had  spent  in  planning  her  gowns,  merely  with  a  view 
to  pleasing  Aunt  Francesca. 

To-night,  she  wore  a  clinging  gown  of  deep  green 
velvet,  with  a  spray  of  green  leaves  in  her  hair.  Her 
only  ornament  was  a  pin  of  jade,  in  an  Oriental  set 
ting.  Allison  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"There's  something  about  you,"  he  said,  "that  I 
don't  know  just  how  to  express.  I  have  no  words  for 
it,  but,  in  some  way,  you  seem  to  live  up  to  your 
name." 

"How  so?"  Rose  asked,  demurely. 

"Well,  I've  never  seen  you  wear  anything  that  a 
rose  might  not  wear.  I've  seen  you  in  red  and  green 
and  yellow  and  pink  and  white,  but  never  in  blue  or 
purple,  or  any  of  those  soft-coloured  things  that  Aunt 
Francesca  wears." 

"That  only  means,"  answered  Rose,  flushing, 
"that  blue  and  grey  and  tan  and  lavender  aren't 
becoming  to  me." 

"That  isn't  it,"  Allison  insisted,  "for  you'd  be 
lovely  in  anything.  You're  living  up  to  your  name. " 

"Go  on,"  Rose  suggested  mischievously.  "This  is 
getting  interesting. " 

"You  needn't  laugh.  I  assure  you  that  men  know 
more  about  those  things  than  they're  usually  given 
credit  for.  Your  jewels  fit  in  with  the  whole  idea,  too. 


64  ©U>  "Rose  anb  Silver 

That  jade  pin,  for  instance,  and  your  tourmaline 
necklace,  and  your  ruby  ring,  and  the  topazes  you 
wear  with  yellow,  and  the  faint  scent  of  roses  that 
always  hangs  about  you." 

"What  else?"  she  smiled. 

"Well,  I  had  a  note  from  you  the  other  day.  It 
was  fragrant  with  rose  petals,  and  the  conventionalised 
rose,  in  gold  and  white,  that  was  stamped  in  place  of 
a  monogram,  didn't  escape  me.  Besides,  here's  this. " 

He  took  from  his  pocket  a  handkerchief  of  sheerest 
linen,  delicately  hemstitched,  In  one  corner  was 
embroidered  a  rose,  in  palest  shades  of  pink  and  green. 
The  delicate,  elusive  scent  filled  the  room  as  he  shook 
it  out. 

"There,"  he  continued,  with  a  laugh.  "I  found  it 
in  my  violin  case  the  other  day.  I  don't  know  how  it 
came  there,  but  it  was  much  the  same  as  finding  a  rose 
twined  about  the  strings." 

Aunt  Francesca  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
by  the  fire.  Her  face,  in  the  firelight,  was  as  delicate 
as  a  bit  of  carved  ivory.  Her  thoughts  were  far  away 
—one  could  see  that.  Isabel  sat  near  her,  apparently 
absorbed  in  a  book,  but,  in  reality,  listening  to  every 
word. 

"I  wish,"  Allison  was  saying,  "that  people  knew 
how  to  live  up  to  themselves.  That's  an  awkward 
phrase,  but  I  don't  know  of  anything  better.  Even 
their  names  don't  fit  'em,  and  they  get  nicknames. " 

"  'Father  calls  me  William,'  "  murmured  Rose. 

"  'And  Mother  calls  me  Will,'  "  Allison  went  on. 
"That's  it,  exactly.  See  how  the  'Margarets'  are 
adjusted  to  themselves  by  their  friends.  Some  are 
4  Margie '  and  more  of  'em  are  '  Peggy. '  A  '  Margaret ' 
who  is  allowed  to  wear  her  full  name  is  very  rare. " 


Ube  Xfgbt  on  tbe  altar  65 

"I'm  glad  my  name  can't  be  changed  easily,"  she 
said,  thoughtfully. 

"It  could  be  'Rosie,'  with  an  'ie,'  and  if  you  were 
that  sort,  it  would  be.  Take  Aunt  Francesca,  for 
instance.  She  might  be  '  Frances '  or  '  Fanny '  or  even 
'Fran,'  but  her  name  suits  her,  so  she  gets  the  full 
benefit  of  it,  every  time." 

Madame  turned  away  from  the  fire,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  has  been  away  upon  a  long  journey. 
"Did  I  hear  my  name?  Did  someone  speak  to 
me?" 

"Only  of  you,"  Allison  explained.  "We  were 
talking  of  names  and  nicknames  and  saying  that 
yours  suited  you." 

"If  it  didn't,"  observed  Madame  Bernard,  "I'd 
change  it.  When  we  get  civilised,  I  believe  children 
will  go  by  number  until  they  get  old  enough  to  choose 
their  own  names.  Fancy  a  squirming  little  imp  with 
a  terrible  temper  being  saddled  with  the  name  of 
'  William, '  by  authority  of  Church  and  State.  Except 
to  his  doting  parents,  he'll  never  be  anything  but 
'Bill.'" 

"Does  my  name  fit  me?"  queried  Isabel,  much 
interested. 

"It  would,"  said  Allison,  "if  you  weren't  quite  so 
tall.  Does  my  name  fit  me?  " 

He  spoke  to  Madame  Bernard  but  he  looked  at 
Rose.  It  was  the  older  woman  who  answered  him. 
"Yes,  of  course  it  does.  How  dare  you  ask  me  that 
when  I  named  you  myself?" 

"I'd  forgotten,"  Allison  laughed.  "I  can't  re 
member  quite  that  far  back." 

They  began  to  play  once  more  and  Isabel,  pleading 
a  headache,  said  good-night.  She  made  her  farewells 

5 


66  ©lfc  IRose  ant)  Silver 

very  prettily  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence  after 
the  door  closed. 

"I'm  afraid,"  said  Madame,  "that  our  little  girl  is 
lonely.  Allison,  can't  you  bestir  yourself  and  find 
some  young  men  to  call  upon  her?  I  can't  think  of 
anybody  but  the  Crosby  twins." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  inquired  Allison, 
lightly.  "Am  I  not  calling?  And  behold,  I  give  her  a 
headache  and  she  goes  to  bed. " 

"You're  not  exactly  in  her  phase  of  youth," 
Madame  objected.  "She's  my  guest  and  she  has  to 
be  entertained. " 

"I'm  willing  to  do  my  share.  I'll  take  her  into  town 
to  the  theatre  some  night,  and  to  supper  afterward, 
in  the  most  brilliantly  lighted  place  I  can  find." 

"That's  very  nice  of  you,"  responded  Rose,  with  a 
look  of  friendly  appreciation.  "I  know  she  would 
enjoy  the  bright  lights. " 

"We  all  do,  in  certain  moods,"  he  said.  "Are  you 
ready  now?  " 

The  voice  of  the  violin  rose  to  heights  of  ecstasy, 
sustained  by  full  chords  in  the  accompaniment. 
Mingled  with  the  joy  of  it,  like  a  breath  of  sadness 
and  longing,  was  a  theme  in  minor,  full  of  ques 
tion  and  heartbreak ;  of  appeal  that  was  almost  prayer. 
And  over  it  all,  as  always,  hovering  like  some  far  light, 
was  the  call  to  which  Rose  answered.  Dumbly,  she 
knew  that  she  must  always  answer  it,  though  she  were 
dead  and  the  violin  itself  mingled  with  her  dust. 

Madame  Bernard,  still  seated  by  the  fire,  stirred 
uneasily.  Something  had  come  into  her  house  that 
vaguely  troubled  her,  because  she  had  no  part  in  it. 
The  air  throbbed  with  something  vital,  keen,  alive; 
the  room  trembled  as  from  invisible  wings  imprisoned. 


ZTbe  OLfgbt  on  tbe  altar  67 

Old  dreams  and  memories  came  back  with  a  rush, 
and  the  little  old  lady  sitting  in  the  half-light  looked 
strangely  broken  and  frail.  The  sound  of  marching 
and  the  steady  beat  of  a  drum  vibrated  through  her 
consciousness  and  the  singing  violin  was  faint  and  far. 
She  saw  again  the  dusty  street,  where  the  blue  column 
went  forward  with  her  Captain  at  the  head,  his  face 
stern  and  cold,  grimly  set  to  some  high  Purpose  that 
meant  only  anguish  for  her.  The  picture  above  the 
mantel,  seen  dimly  through  a  mist,  typified,  to  her, 
the  ways  of  men  and  women,  since  the  world  began — 
the  young  knight  riding  forward  in  his  quest  for  the 
Grail,  already  forgetting  what  lay  behind,  while  the 
woman  knelt,  waiting,  waiting,  waiting,  as  women 
always  have  and  always  must. 

At  last  the  music  reached  its  end  in  a  low  chord  that 
was  at  once  a  question  and  a  call.  Madame  rose, 
about  to  say  good-night,  and  go  upstairs  where  she 
might  be  alone.  On  the  instant  she  paused.  Her 
heart  waited  almost  imperceptibly,  then  resumed  its 
beat. 

Still  holding  the  violin,  Allison  was  looking  at  Rose. 
Subconsciously,  Madame  noted  his  tall  straight  figure, 
his  broad  well-set  shoulders,  his  boyish  face,  and  his 
big  brown  eyes.  But  Rose  had  illumined  as  from  some 
inward  light;  her  lovely  face  was  transfigured  into  a 
beauty  beyond  all  words. 

Francesca  slipped  out  without  speaking  and  went, 
unheard,  to  her  own  room.  She  felt  guilty  because 
she  had  discerned  something  of  which  Rose  herself 
was  as  yet  entirely  unconscious.  With  the  instinctive 
sex-loyalty  that  distinguishes  fine  women  from  the 
other  sort,  Madame  hoped  that  Allison  did  not  know. 

"And  so, "  she  said  to  herself,  "  Love  has  come  back 


68  <§>l&  IRose  ant)  Silver 

to  my  house,  after  many  years  of  absence.  I  wonder 
if  he  cares?  He  must,  oh,  he  must!"  Francesca  had 
no  selfish  thought  of  her  own  loneliness,  if  her  Rose 
should  go  away.  Though  her  own  heart  was  forever 
in  the  keeping  of  a  distant  grave,  she  could  still  be 
glad  of  another's  joy. 

Rose  turned  away  from  the  piano  and  Allison  put 
his  violin  into  the  case.  "It's  late,"  he  said,  regret 
fully,  "and  you  must  be  tired. " 

"Perhaps  I  am,  but  I  don't  know  it." 

"You  respond  so  fully  to  the  music  that  it  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  play  with  you.  I  wish  I  could  always  have 
you  as  my  accompanist. " 

"I  do,  too,"  murmured  Rose,  turning  her  face 
away.  The  deep  colour  mounted  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair  and  he  studied  her  impersonally,  as  he  would 
have  studied  any  other  lovely  thing. 

"Why?"  he  began,  then  laughed. 

"Why  what?"  asked  Rose,  quickly. 

"I  was  about  to  ask  you  a  very  foolish  question." 

"Don't  hesitate,"  she  said.  "Most  questions  are 
foolish." 

"This  is  worse — it's  idiotic.  I  was  going  to  ask  you 
why  you  hadn't  married. " 

With  a  sharp  stab  at  the  heart,  Rose  noted  the  past 
tense.  "Why  haven't  you?"  she  queried,  forcing  a 
smile. 

"There  is  only  one  answer  to  that  question,  and 
yet  people  keep  on  asking  it.  They  might  as  well  ask 
why  you  don't  buy  an  automobile. " 

"Well?"  continued  Rose,  inquiringly. 

"Because  'the  not  impossible  she,'  or  'he,'  hasn't 
come,  that's  all. " 

"Perhaps  only  one  knows,"  she  suggested. 


Ube  OLigbt  on  tbe  Hltar  69 

"No,"  replied  Allison,  "in  any  true  mating,  they 
both  know — they  must." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  A  smouldering  log,  in 
the  fireplace,  broke  and  fell  into  the  embers.  The 
dying  flame  took  new  life  and  the  warm  glow  filled 
the  room. 

"Is  that  why  people  don't  buy  automobiles?" 
queried  Rose,  chiefly  because  she  did  not  know  what 
else  to  say. 

"The  answer  to  that  is  that  they  do. " 

"Sounds  as  if  you  might  have  taken  it  from 
Alice  in  Wonderland,"  she  commented.  "Maybe 
they've  had  to  give  each  other  up,"  she  concluded, 
enigmatically. 

"People  who  will  give  each  other  up  should  be 
obliged  to  do  it,"  he  returned.  "May  I  leave  my 
violin  here?  I'll  be  coming  again  so  soon." 

"Surely.    I  hope  you  will. " 

"Good-night."  He  took  her  hand  for  a  moment 
in  his  warm,  steady  clasp,  and  subtly,  Rose  answered 
to  the  man — not  the  violin.  She  was  deathly  white 
when  the  door  closed,  and  she  trembled  all  the  way 
upstairs. 

When  she  saw  herself  in  the  mirror,  she  was  startled, 
for,  in  her  ghostly  pallor,  her  deep  eyes  burned  like 
stars.  She  knew,  now.  The  woman  who  had  so 
hungered  for  Life  had  suddenly  come  face  to  face  with 
its  utmost  wonder;  its  highest  gift  of  joy — or  pain. 

The  heart  of  a  man  is  divided  into  many  compart 
ments,  mostly  isolated.  Sometimes  there  is  a  door 
between  two  of  them,  or  even  three  may  be  joined, 
but  usually  each  one  is  complete  in  itself.  Within  the 
different  chambers  his  soul  sojourns  as  it  will,  since 


70  ©l&  "Rose  anb  Stiver 

immeasurably  beyond  woman,  he  possesses  the  power 
of  detachment,  of  intermittence. 

Once  in  a  lifetime,  possibly,  under  the  influence  of 
some  sweeping  passion,  all  the  doors  are  flung  wide 
and  the  one  beloved  woman  may  enter  in.  Yet  she  is 
wise,  with  the  wisdom  of  the  Sphinx,  if  she  refuses  to 
go.  Let  her  say  to  him:  "Close  all  these  doors, 
except  that  which  bears  my  name.  In  that  chamber 
and  in  that  alone,  we  shall  dwell  together."  For, 
with  these  words,  the  memories  housed  in  the  other 
chambers  crumble  to  dust  and  ashes,  blown  only  by 
vagrant  winds  of  Fate. 

In  the  heart  of  a  woman  there  are  few  chambers 
and  still  fewer  doors.  Instead  of  business-like  com 
partments,  neatly  labelled,  there  are  long,  labyrin 
thine  passages,  all  opening  into  one  another  and 
inextricably  bound  together.  To  shut  out  one,  or 
even  part  of  one,  requires  the  building  of  a  wall,  but  it 
takes  a  long  time  and  the  barrier  is  never  firm. 

At  a  single  strain  of  music,  the  scent  of  a  flower,  or 
even  one  glimpse  of  a  path  of  moonlight  lying  fair 
upon  a  Summer  sea,  the  barriers  crumble  and  fall. 
Through  the  long  corridors  the  ghosts  of  the  past 
walk  unforbidden,  hindered  only  by  broken  promises, 
dead  hopes,  and  dream-dust. 

Even  while  the  petals  of  long-dead  roses  rustle 
through  the  winding  passages,  where  the  windows  are 
hung  with  cobwebs,  greyed  at  last  from  iridescence  to 
despairing  shadows,  a  barrier  may  fall  at  the  sound 
of  a  talismanic  name,  for  the  hands  of  women  are 
small  and  slow  to  build  and  the  hearts  of  women  are 
tender  beyond  all  words. 

Hidden  in  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth  is  one  small 
secret  chamber,  and  the  door  may  open  only  at  the 


ITbe  Xtgbt  on  tbe  Hltar  71 

touch  of  one  other  hand.  The  woman  herself  may  go 
into  it  for  peace  and  sanctuary,  when  the  world  goes 
wrong,  but  always  alone,  until  the  great  day  comes 
when  two  may  enter  it  together. 

As  Theseus  carried  the  thread  of  Ariadne  through 
the  labyrinth  of  Crete,  there  are  many  who  attempt 
to  find  the  secret  chamber,  but  vainly,  for  the  thread 
will  always  break  in  the  wrong  heart. 

When  the  door  is  opened,  at  last,  by  the  one  who 
has  made  his  way  through  the  devious  passages,  there 
is  so  little  to  be  seen  that  sometimes  even  the  man 
himself  laughs  the  woman  to  scorn  and  despoils  her 
of  her  few  treasures. 

The  secret  chamber  is  only  a  bare,  white  room, 
where  is  erected  the  high  altar  of  her  soul,  served 
through  life,  by  her  own  faith.  Upon  the  altar  burns 
steadfastly  the  one  light,  waiting  for  him  who  at  last 
has  come  and  consecrated  in  his  name.  The  door  of 
the  sanctuary  is  rock-ribbed  and  heavy,  and  he  who 
has  not  the  key  may  beat  and  call  in  vain,  while 
within,  unheeding,  the  woman  guards  her  light. 

Pitifully  often  the  man  does  not  care.  Sometimes 
he  does  not  even  suspect  that  he  has  been  admitted 
into  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  her  heart,  for  there 
are  men  who  may  never  know  what  sanctuary 
means,  nor  what  the  opening  of  the  door  has  cost. 
But  the  man  who  is  worthy  will  kneel  at  the  altar 
for  a  moment,  with  the  woman  beside  him,  and 
thereafter,  when  the  outside  world  has  been  cruel 
to  him,  he  may  go  in  sometimes,  with  her,  to 
warm  his  hands  at  those  divine  fires  and  kindle  his 
failing  courage  anew. 

When  the  sanctuary  is  not  profaned  by  him  who 
has  come  hither,  its  blessedness  is  increased  ten-fold; 


7*  ®16  TRose  ant)  Silver 

it  takes  on  a  certain  divinity  by  being  shared,  and 
thereafter  they  serve  the  light  together. 

And  yet,  through  woman's  eager  trustfulness,  the 
man  who  opens  the  door  is  not  always  the  one  divinely 
appointed  to  open  it.  Sometimes  the  light  fails  and 
the  woman,  weeping  in  the  darkness,  is  left  alone  in 
her  profaned  temple,  never  to  open  its  door  again,  or, 
after  many  years,  to  set  another  light  high  upon  the 
altar,  and,  in  the  deepening  shadows,  pray. 

So,  because  the  door  had  never  been  opened,  and 
because  she  knew  the  man  had  come  at  last  who 
might  enter  the  sanctuary  with  her,  Rose  lifted  her 
ever-burning  light  that  night  to  the  high  altar  of  her 
soul,  and  set  herself  to  wait  until  he  should  find  his 
way  there. 


VII 
ffatber  and  Son 

THE  house  seemed  very  quiet,  though  steadily,  from 
a  distant  upper  room,  came  the  sound  of  a  violin. 
For  more  than  an  hour,  Allison  had  worked  con 
tinuously  at  one  difficult  phrase.  Colonel  Kent 
smiled  whimsically  as  he  sat  in  the  library,  thinking 
that,  by  this  time,  he  could  almost  play  it  himself. 

Looking  back  over  the  thirty  years,  he  could  see 
where  he  had  made  mistakes  in  moulding  the  human 
clay  entrusted  to  his  care,  yet,  in  the  end,  the  mistakes 
had  not  mattered.  Back  in  the  beginning,  he  had 
formulated  certain  cherished  ideals  for  his  son,  and 
had  worked  steadily  toward  them,  unmindful  of 
occasional  difficulties  and  even  failures. 

Against  his  own  judgment,  he  had  yielded  to 
Francesca  in  the  choice  of  the  boy's  career.  "Look 
at  his  hands, "  she  had  said.  "You  couldn't  put  hands 
like  his  at  work  in  an  office.  If  he  isn't  meant  for 
music,  we'll  find  it  out  soon  enough." 

But  Allison  had  gone  on,  happily,  along  the  chosen 
path,  with  never  a  question  or  doubt  of  his  ultimate 
success.  Just  now,  the  Colonel  was  deeply  grateful 
to  Francesca,  for  the  years  abroad  had  been  pleasant 
ones,  and  would  have  been  wholly  impossible  had 
Allison  been  working  in  an  office. 

With  a  sigh,  he  began  to  pace  back  and  forth 
73 


74  ®l&  "Rose  an&  Silver 

through  the  hall,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his 
grey  head  bowed.  Before  him  was  his  own  portrait, 
in  uniform,  his  hand  upon  his  sword.  The  sword 
itself,  hanging  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  was  dull  and 
lifeless  now.  He  had  a  curious  sense  that  his  work  was 
done. 

The  tiny  stream,  rising  from  some  cool  pool  among 
the  mountains,  is  not  unlike  man's  own  beginning,  for, 
at  first,  it  gives  no  hint  of  its  boundless  possibilities. 
Grown  to  a  river,  taking  to  itself  the  water  from  a 
thousand  secret  channels,  it  leaps  down  the  mountain, 
heedless  of  rocky  barriers,  with  all  the  joy  of  lusty 
youth. 

The  river  itself  portrays  humanity  precisely,  with 
its  tortuous  windings,  its  accumulation  of  driftwood, 
its  unsuspected  depths,  and  its  crystalline  shallows, 
singing  in  the  Summer  sun.  Barriers  may  be  built 
across  its  path,  but  they  bring  only  power,  as  the 
conquering  of  an  obstacle  is  always  sure  to  do.  Some 
times  when  the  rocks  and  stone-clad  hills  loom  large 
ahead,  and  eternity  itself  would  be  needed  to  carve  a 
passage,  there  is  an  easy  way  around.  The  discovery 
of  it  makes  the  river  sing  with  gladness  and  turns  the 
murmurous  deeps  to  living  water,  bright  with  ripples 
and  foam. 

Ultimately,  too,  in  spite  of  rocks  and  driftwood,  of 
endless  seeking  for  a  path,  of  tempestuous  nights 
and  days  of  ice  and  snow,  man  and  the  river  reach 
the  eternal  sea,  to  be  merged  forever  with  the  Ever 
lasting. 

Upstairs  the  music  ceased.  A  door  opened,  then 
closed,  and  presently  Allison  came  down,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "It's  a  little  cool  up  there,"  he  said,  "and 


tfatber  ano  Son  75 

yet,  by  the  calendar,  it's  Spring.  I  wish  this  climate 
could  be  averaged  up. " 

"Even  then,  we  wouldn't  be  satisfied/'  the  Colonel 
returned.  "Who  wants  all  his  days  to  be  alike?" 

"  Nobody.  Still,  it's  a  bit  trying  to  freeze  your  nose 
one  day  and  be  obliged  to  keep  all  the  windows  open 
the  next." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  The  Colonel  tapped  his 
fingers  restlessly  upon  the  library  table.  Allison  went 
over  to  the  open  fire  and  stood  with  his  back  to  it, 
clasping  his  hands  behind  him.  "What  have  you 
been  doing  all  the  morning,  Dad?  " 

"Nothing.     Just  sitting  here,  thinking." 

"  Pretty  hopeless  occupation  unless  you  have  some 
thing  in  particular  to  think  about." 

"  It's  better  to  have  nothing  to  think  about  than 
to  be  obliged  to  think  of  something  unpleasant,  isn't 
it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Allison  responded,  smothering  a 
yawn.  "Almost  anything  is  better  than  being  bored." 

"You're  not  bored,  are  you?"  asked  the  Colonel,, 
quickly. 

"Far  from  it,  but  I  have  my  work.  I  was  thinking 
of  you." 

"I  can  work,  too,"  the  Colonel  replied.  "I  think 
as  soon  as  the  ground  thaws  out,  I'll  make  a  garden. 
A  floral  catalogue  came  yesterday  and  the  pictures 
are  very  inspiring." 

"Does  it  give  any  directions  for  distinguishing 
between  the  flowers  and  weeds?" 

"No,"  laughed  the  Colonel,  "but  I've  thought  of 
trying  the  ingenious  plan  of  the  man  who  pulled  up 
the  plants  and  carefully  watered  the  weeds,  expecting 
the  usual  contrary  results. " 


76  ©tt>  IRose  ant>  Stiver 

Luncheon  was  announced  and  they  went  out 
together,  shivering  at  the  change  in  temperature 
between  the  library  and  the  dining-room,  where  there 
would  be  no  cheerful  open  fire  until  the  dinner 
hour. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?"  queried 
the  Colonel. 

"Why,  work,  I  suppose — at  least  until  I  get  too 
tired  to  work  any  more." 

"You  seem  to  believe  in  an  eight-hour  day." 

Something  in  the  tone  gave  Allison  an  inkling  of 
the  fact  that  his  father  was  lonely  and  restless  in  the 
big  house.  When  they  were  abroad,  he  had  managed 
to  occupy  himself  pleasantly  while  Allison  was  busy, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  the  young  man  wondered 
whether  it  had  been  wise  to  come  back. 

The  loneliness  of  the  great  rooms  was  evident,  if 
one  looked  for  it,  and  the  silence  was  literally  to  be 
felt,  everywhere.  It  is  difficult  for  two  people  to  be 
happy  in  a  large  house;  they  need  the  cosiness  estab 
lished  by  walls  not  too  far  apart,  ceilings  not  too  high, 
and  the  necessary  furniture  not  too  widely  separated. 
A  single  row  of  books,  within  easy  reach,  may  hint 
of  companionship  not  possible  to  the  great  bookcase 
across  a  large  room. 

"I  think,"  said  Allison,  "that  perhaps  this  house  is 
too  large  for  us.  Why  should  we  need  fifteen  rooms?  " 

"We  don't,  but  what's  the  use  of  moving  again  just 
now,  when  we're  all  settled." 

"It's  no  trouble  to  move,"  returned  the  young 
man. 

"It  might  be,  if  we  did  it  ourselves.  I  fancy  that 
Miss  Rose  could  give  us  a  few  pointers  on  the  subject 
of  opening  an  old  house. " 


tfatber  an&  Son  77 

"There  may  be  something  in  that,"  admitted 
Allison.  "What  charming  neighbours  they  are!"  he 
added,  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm. 

"Madame  Bernard,"  replied  the  Colonel,  with 
emphasis,  "is  one  of  the  finest  women  I  have  ever  had 
the  good  fortune  to  meet.  Miss  Rose  is  like  her,  but 
I  have  known  only  one  other  of  the  same  sort." 

"And  the  other  was " 

"Your  mother." 

The  Colonel  pushed  back  his  plate  and  went  to  the 
window.  Beyond  the  mountains,  somewhere  in 
"God's  acre,"  ^was  the  little  sunken  grave  still  en 
folding  a  handful  of  sacred  dust.  With  a  sudden 
throb  of  pain,  Allison  realised,  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  that  his  father  was  an  old  man.  The  fine,  strong 
face,  outlined  clearly  by  the  pitiless  afternoon  sun, 
was  deeply  lined ;  the  broad  shoulders  were  stooped  a 
little,  and  the  serene  eyes  dimmed  as  though  by  mist. 
In  the  moment  he  seemed  to  have  crossed  the  dividing 
line  between  maturity  and  age. 

Allison  was  about  to  suggest  that  they  take  a  walk 
after  luncheon,  having  Madame  Bernard's  household 
in  mind  as  the  ultimate  object,  but,  before  he  could 
speak,  the  Colonel  had  turned  away  from  the  window. 

"  Some  day  you'll  marry,  lad, "  he  said,  in  a  strange 
tone. 

Allison  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  doubtfully. 

"And  then,"  the  Colonel  continued,  with  a  Kttle 
catch  in  his  voice,  "the  house  will  be  none  too  large 
for  two — for  you  two." 

Very  rarely,  and  for  a  moment  only,  Allison  looked 
like  his  mother.  For  an  instant  she  lived  again  in  her 
son's  eyes,  then  vanished. 

"Dad,"  he  said,  gently,  "I'm  sure  you  wouldn't 


78  ©R>  iRose  ant>  Silver 

desert  me  even  if  I  did  marry.  You've  stood  by  me 
too  long. " 

The  stooped  shoulders  straightened  and  the  Colonel 
smiled.  "Do  you  mean  that — if  you  married,  you'd 
still — want  me?" 

"  Most  assuredly. " 

"She  wouldn't." 

"If  she  didn't,"  returned  Allison,  lightly,  "she 
wouldn't  get  me.  Not  that  I'm  any  prize  to  be 
wrangled  over  by  the  fair  sex,  individually  or  col 
lectively,  but  you  and  I  stand  together,  Dad,  and 
don't  you  forget  it. " 

The  Colonel  cleared  his  throat,  tried  to  speak,  then 
stopped  abruptly.  "I  have  been  thinking,"  he  con 
tinued,  with  a  swift  change  of  mood  and  subject, 
"that  we  might  manage  a  dinner  party.  We're  much 
indebted  to  Madame  Bernard." 

"Good  idea!  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  party  it 
would  prove  to  be,  but,  if  we  did  our  best,  it  would  be 
all  right  with  them.  Anyhow,  Aunt  Francesca  would 
give  an  air  to  it." 

"So  would  the  others,  Miss  Rose  especially." 

"I  wonder  why  Aunt  Francesca  didn't  marry 
again, "  mused  Allison. 

"Because  her  heart  is  deep  enough  to  hold  a 
grave." 

"You  knew  her  husband,  didn't  you?" 

"He  was  my  best  friend,"  answered  the  Colonel,  a 
little  sadly.  "How  the  years  separate  and  destroy, 
and  blot  out  the  things  that  count  for  the  most!" 

"I  wonder  how  she  happened  to  be  named  'Fran- 
cesca. '  It  isn't  an  American  name. " 

"She  wasn't.  Her  name  was  'Mary  Frances,'  and 
he  changed  it  to  '  Marie  Francesca. '  So  she  has  been 


ffatber  an&  Son  79 

'Marie  Francesca'  ever  since,  though  she  never  uses 
the  '  Marie. '  That  was  his  name  for  her. " 

"The  change  suits  her  someway.  Queer  idea  she 
has  about  names  fitting  people,  and  yet  it  isn't  so 
queer,  either,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  Rose 
might  have  been  named  Abigail  or  Jerusha,  yet  I 
believe  people  would  have  found  out  she  was  like  a 
rose  and  called  her  by  her  proper  name." 

Colonel  Kent  flashed  a  quick  glance  at  him,  but 
the  expression  of  his  face  had  not  changed.  "And 
Isabel?"  he  queried,  lightly. 

"Isabel's  only  a  kid  and  it  doesn't  matter  so  much 
whether  things  fit  her  or  not.  I've  promised  to  take 
her  to  the  theatre,"  he  continued,  irrelevantly,  "be 
cause  Aunt  Francesca  wants  her  guest  to  be  amused. 
I'm  also  commissioned  to  find  some  youths  about 
twenty  and  trot  'em  round  for  Isabel's  inspection. 
Do  you  know  of  anybody?" 

"I've  seen  only  one  who  might  do.  There's  a 
lanky  boy  with  unruly  hair  and  an  expansive  smile 
whom  I've  seen  at  the  post-office  a  time  or  two.  He 
usually  has  a  girl  with  him,  but  she  may  be  his  sister. 
They  look  astonishingly  alike. " 

"Bet  it's  the  Crosby  twins.  I'd  like  to  see  the  little 
devils,  if  they've  grown  up." 

"They're  grown  up,  whoever  they  are.  The  boy  is 
almost  as  tall  as  I  am  and  his  sister  doesn't  lack  much 
of  it." 

"I  must  hunt  'em  up.  They've  already  called  on 
Isabel,  and  perhaps,  when  she  returns  the  call,  she'll 
take  me  along." 

"Who  brought  them  up?"  asked  the  Colonel 
idly. 

"They've  brought  themselves  up,  for  the  last  five 


8o  QlD  "tRose  anb  Silver 

or  six  years,  and  I'm  of  the  opinion  that  they've 
always  done  it." 

"Let's  invite  them  to  the  dinner  party." 

Allison's  eyes  danced  at  the  suggestion.  "All  right, 
but  we'll  have  to  see  'em  first.  They  may  not  want  to 
come. " 

"I've  often  wondered,"  mused  the  Colonel,  "why 
it  is  so  much  more  pleasant  to  entertain  than  it  is  to  be 
entertained.  I'd  rather  have  a  guest  any  day  than  to 
be  one. " 

"And  yet,"  returned  Allison,  "if  you  are  a  guest, 
you  can  get  away  any  time  you  want  to,  within 
reasonable  limits.  If  you're  entertaining,  you've  got 
to  keep  it  going  until  they  all  want  to  go. " 

"  In  that  case,  it  might  be  better  for  us  if  we  went 
to  Crosbys'." 

"We  can  do  that,  too.  I  think  it  would  be  fun, 
though,  to  have  'em  here.  We  need  another  man  in 
one  sense,  though  not  in  another. " 

"I  have  frequently  had  occasion  to  observe,"  re 
marked  the  Colonel,  "that  many  promising  dinners 
are  wholly  spoiled  by  the  idea  that  there  must  be  an 
equal  number  of  men  and  women.  One  uncongenial 
guest  can  ruin  a  dinner  more  easily  than  a  poor  salad — 
and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal." 

"Your  salad  days  aren't  over  yet,  evidently." 

"I  hope  not." 

The  hour  of  talk  had  done  the  Colonel  a  great  deal 
of  good,  and  he  was  quite  himself  again.  Some  new 
magazines  had  come  in  the  afternoon  mail  and  lay  on 
the  library  table.  He  fingered  the  paper  knife  ab 
sently  as  he  tore  off  the  outer  wrappings  and  threw 
them  into  the  fire. 

"I  believe  I'll  go  up  and  work  for  a  couple  of 


jfatber  ano  Son  81 

hours,"  said  Allison,  "and  then  we'll  go  out  for  a 
walk." 

"All  right,  lad.    I'll  be  ready. " 

Even  after  the  strains  of  the  violin  sounded  faintly 
from  upstairs,  accompanied  by  a  rhythmic  tread  as 
Allison  walked  to  and  fro,  Colonel  Kent  did  not  begin 
to  cut  the  leaves.  Instead,  he  sat  gazing  into  the  fire, 
thinking.  Quite  unconsciously,  for  years,  he  had  been 
carrying  a  heavy  burden — the  fear  that  Allison  would 
marry  and  that  his  marriage  would  bring  separation. 
Now  he  was  greatly  reassured.  "And  yet,"  he 
thought,  "there's  no  telling  what  a  woman  may  do." 

The  sense  that  his  work  was  done  still  haunted  him, 
and,  resolutely,  he  tried  to  push  it  aside.  "While 
there's  life,  there's  work,"  he  said  to  himself.  He 
knew,  however,  as  he  had  not  known  before,  that 
Allison  was  past  the  need  of  his  father,  except  for 
companionship. 

The  old  house  seemed  familiar,  yet  as  though  it 
belonged  to  another  life.  He  remembered  the  build 
ing  of  it,  when,  with  a  girl's  golden  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  they  had  studied  plans  together  far  into  the 
night.  As  though  it  were  yesterday,  their  delight  at 
the  real  beginning  came  back.  There  was  another 
radiant  hour,  when  the  rough  flooring  for  the  first 
story  was  laid,  and,  with  bare  scantlings  reared, 
skeleton-like,  all  around  them,  they  actually  went 
into  their  own  house. 

One  by  one,  through  the  vanished  years,  he  sought 
out  the  links  that  bound  him  to  the  past.  The  day 
the  bride  came  home  from  the  honeymoon,  and  knelt, 
with  him,  upon  the  hearthstone,  to  light  their  first 
fire  together;  the  day  she  came  to  him,  smiling,  to 
whisper  to  him  the  secret  that  lay  beneath  her  heart ; 
o 


82  <S>R>  IRose  a^  Silver 

the  long  waiting,  half  fearful  and  half  sweet,  then  the 
hours  of  terror  that  made  an  eternity  of  a  night, 
then  the  dawn,  that  brought  the  ultimate,  unbroken 
peace  which  only  God  can  change. 

Over  there,  in  front  of  the  fireplace  in  the  library, 
the  little  mother  had  lain  in  her  last  sleep.  The 
heavy  scent  of  tuberoses,  the  rumble  of  wheels,  the 
slow  sound  of  many  feet,  and  the  tiny,  wailing  cry 
that  followed  them  when  he  and  she  went  out  of  their 
house  together  for  the  last  time — it  all  came  back,  but, 
mercifully,  without  pain. 

Were  it  not  for  this  divine  forgetting,  few  of  us 
could  bear  life.  One  can  recall  only  the  fact  of  suffer 
ing,  never  the  suffering  itself.  When  a  sorrow  is  once 
healed,  it  leaves  only  a  tender  memory,  to  come  back, 
perhaps,  in  many  a  twilight  hour,  with  tears  from 
which  the  bitterness  has  been  distilled. 

Slowly,  too,  by  the  wonderful  magic  of  the  years, 
unknown  joys  reveal  themselves  and  stand  before  us, 
as  though  risen  from  the  dead.  At  such  and  such  a 
time,  we  were  happy,  but  we  did  not  know  it.  In  the 
midst  of  sorrow,  the  joy  comes  back,  not  reproachfully, 
but  to  beckon  us  on,  with  clearer  sight,  to  those  which 
lie  on  the  path  beyond. 

He  remembered,  too,  that  after  the  first  sharp  agony 
of  bereavement  was  over;  when  he  had  learned  that 
even  Death  does  not  deny  Love,  he  had  seemed  to 
enter  some  mysterious  fellowship.  Gradually,  he 
became  aware  of  the  hidden  griefs  of  others,  and  from 
many  unsuspected  sources  came  consolation.  Even 
those  whom  he  had  thought  hard  and  cold  cherished 
some  holy  of  holies — some  sacred  altar  where  a 
bruised  heart  had  been  healed  and  the  bitterness 
taken  away. 


jfatber  an&  Son  83 

He  had  come  to  see  that  the  world  was  full  of 
kindness ;  that  through  the  countless  masks  of  varying 
personalities,  all  hearts  beat  in  perfect  unison,  and 
that  joy,  in  reality,  is  immortal,  while  pain  dies  in  a 
day. 

"And  yet,"  he  thought,  "how  strange  it  is  that  life 
must  be  nearly  over,  before  one  fully  learns  to  live." 

The  fire  crackled  cheerily  on  the  hearth,  the  sun 
beams  danced  gaily  through  the  old  house,  spending 
gold-dust  generously  in  corners  that  were  usually 
dark,  and  the  uncut  magazine  slipped  to  the  floor. 
Above,  the  violin  sang  high  and  clear.  The  Colonel 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  closed  his  eyes. 

When  Allison  came  down,  he  was  asleep,  with  the 
peace  of  Heaven  upon  his  face,  and  so  quiet  that  the 
young  man  leaned  over  him,  a  little  frightened,  to  wait 
for  the  next  deep  breath.  Reassured,  he  did  not  wake 
him,  but  went  for  his  walk  alone. 


VIII 
"  Sbe  gear's  at  tbe  Spring  " 

OUTSIDE,  in  the  grey  darkness,  the  earth  was  soft  with 
snow.  Upon  the  illimitable  horizon  beyond  the 
mountain  peaks  were  straying  gleams  of  dawn,  colour 
less,  but  none  the  less  surely  a  promise  of  daybreak. 

Rose  had  been  awake  for  some  time,  listening  to  the 
ice-clad  branches  that  clattered  with  every  passing 
breeze.  A  maple  bough,  tapping  on  her  window  as 
ghostly  fingers  might,  had  first  aroused  her  from  a 
medley  of  dreams. 

She  went  to  the  window,  shivering  a  little,  and, 
while  she  stood  there,  watching  the  faint  glow  in  the 
East,  the  wind  changed  in  quality,  though  it  was  still 
cool.  Hints  of  warmth  and  fragrance  were  indefinably 
blended  with  the  cold,  and  Rose  laughed  as  she  crept 
back  to  bed,  for  she  had  chanced  upon  the  mysterious 
hour  when  the  Weaver  of  the  Seasons  changed  the 
pattern  upon  the  loom. 

Having  raised  another  window  shade,  she  could  see 
the  dawn  from  where  she  lay.  Tints  of  gold  and 
amethyst  came  slowly  upon  the  grey  and  made  the 
horizon  delicately  iridescent,  like  mother-of-pearl. 
Warm  and  soft  from  the  Southland,  the  first  wind  of 
Spring  danced  merrily  into  Madame  Francesca's 
sleeping  garden,  thrilling  all  the  life  beneath  the  sod. 
With  the  first  beam  of  sun,  the  ice  began  to  drip  from 

84 


"Ube  gear's  at  tbe  Spring"          85 

the  imprisoned  trees  and  every  fibre  of  shrub  and  tree 
to  quiver  with  aspiration,  as  though  a  clod  should 
suddenly  find  a  soul. 

In  the  watcher's  heart,  too,  had  come  another 
Spring,  for  once  in  time  and  tune  with  the  outer  world. 
The  heart's  seasons  seldom  coincide  with  the  calendar. 
Who  among  us  has  not  been  made  desolate  beyond  all 
words  upon  some  golden  day  when  the  little  creatures 
of  the  air  and  meadow  were  life  incarnate,  from  sheer 
joy  of  living?  Who  among  us  has  not  come  home, 
singing,  when  the  streets  were  almost  impassable  with 
snow,  or  met  a  friend  with  a  happy,  smiling  face,  in 
the  midst  of  a  pouring  rain? 

The  soul,  too.  has  its  own  hours  of  Winter  and 
Spring.  Gethsemane  and  Calvary  may  come  to  us 
in  the  time  of  roses  and  Easter  rise  upon  us  in  a  Decem 
ber  night.  How  shall  we  know,  in  our  own  agony,  of 
another's  gladness,  or,  on  that  blessed  to-morrow  when 
the  struggle  is  over,  help  someone  else  to  bear  our  own 
forgotten  pain? 

True  sympathy  is  possible  only  when  the  season  of 
one  soul  accords  with  that  of  another,  or  else  when 
memory,  divinely  tender,  brings  back  a  vivid,  scarlet 
hour  out  of  grey,  forgotten  days,  to  enable  us  to  share, 
with  another,  his  own  full  measure  of  sorrow  or  of  joy. 

Ah,  but  the  world  was  awake  at  last!  Javelin-like, 
across  a  field  of  melting  snow,  went  a  flash  of  blue 
wings,  and  in  Madame  Francesca's  own  garden  a 
robin  piped  his  cheery  strain  upon  the  topmost  bough 
of  a  dripping  tree. 

The  woman,  too,  was  awake,  in  every  fibre  of  body 
and  soul.  Even  her  finger-tips  seemed  sentient  and 
alive;  her  heart  was  strangely  lifted,  as  though  by 
imprisoned  wings.  She  had  no  doubt  of  the  ultimate 


86  ©l&  Hose  ant>  Silver 

hour,  when  he  would  know  also,  yet,  half-afraid,  she 
shrank  from  it,  as  she  would  not  have  shrunk  from 
pain. 

Madame  had  once  remarked  that  civilisation  must 
have  begun  not  earlier  than  nine  in  the  morning,  or 
later  than  noon.  She  had  a  horror  of  the  early  break 
fast,  when  the  family,  cold,  but  clean,  gathers  itself 
around  the  board  which  only  last  night  was  festive 
and  strives  valiantly  to  be  pleasant.  It  was  almost  an 
axiom  with  her  that  human,  friendly  conversation 
was  not  possible  before  nine  in  the  morning. 

So,  as  there  was  no  one  else  to  be  pleased,  the 
three  women  breakfasted  when  and  where  they  chose. 
If  Rose  preferred  to  robe  herself  immaculately  in 
white  linen  and  have  her  coffee  in  the  dining-room  at 
seven,  she  was  at  liberty  to  do  so.  If  she  wanted  it  in 
her  own  room,  at  ten,  that  also  was  easily  managed, 
but  this  was  the  only  "movable  feast"  Madame 
would  permit.  Luncheon  and  dinner  went  precisely 
by  the  clock,  year  in  and  year  out. 

Too  happy  to  sleep  and  yearning  to  be  outdoors, 
Rose  dressed  quietly  and  tiptoed  down-stairs.  She 
smiled  whimsically  as  the  heavy  front  door  slammed 
behind  her,  wondering  if  it  would  wake  the  others  and 
if  they,  too,  would  know  that  it  was  Spring. 

Tips  of  green  showed  now  and  then  where  the 
bulbs  were  planted,  and,  down  in  the  wild  garden, 
when  she  brushed  aside  the  snow,  Rose  found  a 
blushing  hepatica  in  full  bloom.  "How  indiscreet," 
she  thought,  then  added,  to  herself,  "but  what  sub 
lime  courage  it  must  take  to  blossom  now!" 

The  plump  robin,  whose  winter  had  evidently  been 
pleasant,  hopped  about  the  garden  after  her,  occa 
sionally  seeking  shelter  on  the  lower  bough  of  a  tree 


gear's  at  tbe  Spring"          87 

if  she  turned,  or  came  too  near.  "  Don't  be  afraid,  '* 
she  called,  aloud,  then  laughed,  as  with  a  farewell 
chirp  and  a  flutter  of  wings,  the  robin  took  himself 
beyond  the  reach  of  further  conversational  liberties. 

Her  pulses  leaped  with  abundant  life ;  the  wet  road 
lured  her  eager  feet.  She  went  out,  leaving  the  gate 
open,  and  turned  toward  the  woods,  where  a  flock  of 
wild  geese,  breasting  the  chill  winds  far  above  the 
river,  was  steadily  cleaving  a  passage  to  the  friendly 
North. 

When  she  reached  the  woods,  where  the  white 
birches  stood  like  shy  dryads  among  the  oaks,  she 
heard  once  more  the  robin's  flutelike  call.  It  was 
answered  by  another,  exactly  upon  the  same  notes, 
yet  wholly  different  as  to  quality.  Presently,  among 
the  trees,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall  man,  and  she 
paused  for  an  instant,  frightened.  Then  her  heart 
leaped  and  her  cheeks  burned,  as  she  saw  who  it  was. 

"Boy!"  she  called,  clearly.    "Oh,  Boy!" 

Allison  turned,  startled,  then  came  to  her,  smiling, 
hat  in  hand.  "Upon  my  word, "  he  said.  "I  didn't 
think  there  was  anyone  else  mad  enough  to  come  out 
at  this  hour." 

"Why,  it's  Spring!    Didn't  you  know?" 

"Yes.    It  came  this  morning  just  before  sunrise." 

"Were  you  awake?" 

"Yes,  were  you?" 

"Of  course,"  she  answered.    "I  couldn't  stay  in." 

"Nor  could  I." 

"The  year's  at  the  spring, 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 
Morning's  at  seven; 
The  hill-side's  dew-pearled," 

Rose  quoted.    "You  know  the  rest,  don't  you?" 


88  <$lt>  1Rose  an&  Silver 

"  The  rest  doesn't  matter.  '  Morning  waits  at  the 
end  of  the  world — Gypsy,  come  away!' 

"I'll  go,"  she  breathed,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his, 
"anywhere!" 

"  To  the  river,  then.  The  last  time  I  saw  it,  ice  and 
snow  had  hidden  it  completely." 

The  path  was  narrow  until  they  got  out  of  the 
woods,  so  Rose  went  ahead.  "I  don't  believe  I 
fooled  that  robin  by  whistling  to  him,"  Allison  con 
tinued.  "He  pretended  I  did,  but  I  believe  he  was 
only  trying  to  be  polite." 

"He  wasn't,  if  it  was  the  same  robin  I  saw  in  our 
garden  this  morning.  I  spoke  to  him  most  pleasantly 
and  told  him  not  to  be  afraid  of  me,  but  he  disappeared 
with  a  very  brief,  chirpy  good-bye." 

"Don't  hurry  so,"  he  said,  as  he  came  up  beside 
her  and  assisted  her  over  a  fallen  tree.  "We've  got 
the  whole  day,  haven't  we?" 

"We  have  all  the  time  there  is,"  laughed  Rose. 
"Everybody  has,  for  that  matter." 

"  Have  you  had  your  breakfast?  " 

"No,  have  you?" 

"Far  from  it.  Everybody  was  asleep  when  I  came 
cut." 

"Then  you'll  have  breakfast  with  me,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

"Thank  you,"  he  smiled,  "for  taking  the  hint." 

"But  won't  your  father  miss  you?"  she  queried, 
with  mock  seriousness. 

"He  pays  no  attention  whatever  to  my  irregular 
habits,  and  I  think  that's  one  reason  why  we  get  on  so 
well  together.  It's  a  wise  father  who  knows  his  own 
child." 

"Especially  if  it  is  a  wise  child,"  she  replied.    Her 


gear's  at  tbe  Spring"          89 

eyes  were  dancing  with  mirth,  a  scarlet  signal  burned 
on  either  cheek,  and  her  parted  lips  were  crimson. 
She  seemed  lovelier  to  him  than  ever  before. 

"Honestly,  Rose,  you  seem  to  get  prettier  every 
day.'* 

"Then,"  she  smiled,  "if  I  were  younger,  I  might 
eventually  become  dangerotis." 

"Rose " 

"Old  Rose,"  she  interrupted.  The  high  colour 
faded  from  her  face  as  she  spoke  and  left  her  pale. 

Allison  put  his  hand  on  her  arm  and  stopped. 
"Rose,  please  don't.  You're  not  a  day  older  than  I 
am." 

"Ten  years,"  she  insisted  stubbornly,  for  women 
are  wont  to  lean  upon  the  knife  that  stabs  them  and 
she  was  in  a  reckless  mood.  "When  you're  forty,  I'll 
be  fifty." 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "  It  hurts  me,  someway, 
to  have  you  talk  so.  I  don't  know  how — nor  why." 

In  a  single  swift  surge  her  colour  came  back.  "All 
right,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "hereafter  I'm  thirty, 
also.  Thanking  you  for  giving  me  ten  more  years  of 
life,  for  I  love  it  so!" 

The  sun  was  well  up  in  the  heavens  when  they  came 
to  the  river,  and  the  dark,  rippling  surface  gave  back 
the  light  in  a  thousand  little  dancing  gleams.  The 
ice  was  broken,  the  snow  was  gone,  and  fragments  of 
shattered  crystal  went  gently  toward  the  open  sea, 
lured  by  the  song  of  the  river  underneath. 

"It  doesn't  look  deep,"  remarked  Rose. 

"But  it  is,  nevertheless.  I  nearly  drowned  myself 
here  when  I  was  a  kid,  trying  to  dive  to  the  bottom. " 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't  succeed.  What  a  heavy  blow 
it  would  have  been  to  your  father.'" 


90  ©ib  IRose  an&  Silver 

"  Dear  old  Dad, "  said  Allison,  gently.  "  I'm  all  he 
has." 

" And  all  he  wants." 

"It's  after  eight,"  Allison  complained,  looking  at 
his  watch,  "and  I'm  starving." 

"So  am  I.  Likewise  my  skirts  are  wet,  so  we'd 
better  go." 

When  they  reached  Madame  Bernard's,  Rose 
ordered  breakfast  in  the  dining-room  for  two,  then 
excused  herself  to  put  on  dry  clothing.  Allison  waited 
before  the  open  fire  until  she  came  down,  fresh  and 
tailor-made,  in  another  gown  and  a  white  linen 
collar. 

"I  thought  women  always  wore  soft,  fluffy  things 
in  the  morning,"  he  observed,  as  they  sat  down. 

"Some  do — the  fluffy  ones,  always." 

"Who,  for  instance,  are  the  fluffy  ones?" 

"Aunt  Francesca  for  one  and  Isabel  for  another." 

"How  long  is  the  kid  going  to  stay?" 

"Until  she  gets  ready  to  go  home,  I  suppose." 

"I  thought  she  had  no  home. " 

"She  hasn't.  Poor  Isabel  is  a  martyr  to  the  Cause 
of  Woman." 

"How  so?" 

"Her  mother  is  Emancipated,  with  a  large  E,  and 
has  no  time  for  trifles  like  a  daughter.  She  devotes 
herself  to  what  she  calls  the  Higher  World  Service." 

"So  Isabel  is  stranded,  on  a  desert  island." 

"Yes,  except  for  us." 

"How  good  you  are!"  he  exclaimed,  with  honest 
admiration. 

"It  was  Aunt  Francesca,"  returned  Rose,  flushing 
slightly.  "  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  She  took  me 
from  a  desert  island,  too." 


gear's  at  tbe  Spring"          91 

"Is  Isabel  emancipated?" 

"Not  in  the  sense  that  her  mother  is." 

"I  don't  see  but  what  she  is  free." 

"She  is.  She  can  do  exactly  as  she  pleases  and  there 
is  no  one  to  say  her  nay. " 

"I  thought  all  women  did  as  they  please.'* 

"They  do,  in  the  sense  that  we  all  do  as  we  please. 
If  you  make  a  sacrifice,  you  do  it  because  you  can  get 
more  pleasure  out  of  making  it  than  you  would 
otherwise. " 

"You've  been  reading  Spencer." 

"I  plead  guilty,"  she  laughed. 

"  If  it's  true, "  he  went  on,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"a  genuine  New  England  conscience  must  be  an 
unholy  joy  to  its  proud  possessor. " 

"It's  unholy  at  all  events.  One  lump,  or  two?" 
she  asked,  as  the  coffee  was  brought  in. 

"Two,  please." 

It  seemed  very  pleasant  to  Allison  to  sit  there  in  the 
warm,  sunny  room,  with  Rose  opposite  him,  pouring 
his  coffee.  There  was  an  air  of  cosiness  and  domestic 
peace  about  it  hitherto  outside  his  experience.  For 
the  first  time  he  was  conscious  of  the  peculiar  gracious- 
ness  and  sense  of  home  that  only  a  home-loving 
woman  may  give  to  a  house. 

"I  like  this,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  steaming  cup. 
"I'd  like  to  do  it  often." 

"We'd  like  to  have  you,"  she  returned,  hospitably. 

"I  thought  you  all  had  breakfast  together  at  some 
fixed  hour,  and  early  at  that. " 

"How  little  you  know  Aunt  Francesca!  You  can 
have  breakfast  in  this  house  in  any  room  you  choose, 
at  any  hour  before  noon,  all  the  year  round.  Some 
times,  we're  all  together,  sometimes  only  two.  Usu- 


92  ©15  1Rose  ant)  Silver 

ally,  however,  I'm  alone,  as  I  seem  to  get  up  a  little 
earlier  than  the  others." 

"I  think  I'll  drop  in  occasionally,  then.  It  looks 
as  if  there'd  always  be  somebody  to  bear  me  company. 
Perhaps  I'll  bring  Dad,  too.  He'd  like  to  have  you 
pour  his  coffee." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  admiration  in  Allison's 
eyes  and  Rose  turned  hers  away.  He  sat  with  his  back 
to  the  dining-room  door  and  she,  across  from  him, 
faced  it  squarely.  For  the  merest  fraction  of  a  second 
Isabel,  in  a  pink  silk  negligee,  stood  in  the  doorway, 
then  vanished,  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  come.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  mysterious  meaning  that  Rose  was 
powerless  to  translate. 

"I'd  enjoy  it,"  Rose  said  quickly.  "I  love  to  pour 
the  coffee  and  Aunt  Francesca  always  lets  me  on  the 
rare  occasions  when  we  breakfast  together." 

If  her  colour  was  a  little  brighter,  if  her  voice  was 
in  a  higher  key,  if  her  eyes  had  changed  their  expres 
sion,  Allison  did  not  notice  it.  Yet,  in  the  instant, 
she  had  attained  a  certain  dual  consciousness — there 
seemed  to  be  two  of  her.  One  was  the  woman  of  the 
world,  well-schooled  in  self-control,  tactful,  watchful, 
ready  to  smooth  any  awkwardness,  and,  at  every  point, 
to  guard  her  guest.  The  other  was  Primitive  Woman ; 
questioning,  curious,  and  watchful  in  the  sense  of 
rivalry.  She  put  it  resolutely  aside  to  think  about 
later,  and  was  very  glad  that  Allison  did  not  know. 

She  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  went  home, 
promising  to  return  later  for  a  few  hours  of  work  upon 
a  difficult  concerto.  "We'll  do  it  again,"  he  said, 
laughing,  as  he  went  down  the  steps.  "Ask  Aunt 
Francesca  to  give  me  a  meal  ticket,  to  be  used  solely 
for  breakfasts,  will  you?" 


14  Ube  gear's  at  tbe  Spring  "          93 

Rose  only  smiled  in  answer,  but  waved  her  hand  to 
him  as  he  went  out  of  the  gate.  She  stood  pensively 
in  the  hall  for  a  moment  or  two  after  she  had  closed 
the  door,  and  would  have  gone  up  to  her  own  room 
had  she  not  heard  a  step  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 

Isabel  was  coming  down,  also  fresh  and  tailor-made, 
with  a  white  linen  collar  and  a  dashing  crimson  tie. 
Rose  strolled  into  the  library,  took  up  a  magazine, 
sat  down,  and  pretended  to  read. 

"I'm  so  sorry  to  be  late  to  breakfast,"  remarked 
Isabel,  following  her.  "But  perhaps  it's  just  as  well, 
as  I  wasn't  invited." 

"Nobody  was  invited,"  returned  Rose,  coolly. 
"I  went  out  for  an  early  walk,  chanced  to  meet  Mr. 
Kent,  and  he  invited  himself  here  to  breakfast." 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  in  the  habit  of  taking 
early  walks." 

"I'm  trying  to  acquire  the  habit,"  answered  Rose, 
with  icy  sweetness. 

"It  won't  be  hard,"  Isabel  said,  maliciously,  "if 
they're  all  equally  pleasant."  She  slammed  the  door 
as  she  went  out,  shutting  Rose  in  the  library. 

For  an  instant  Rose  was  angry,  then  her  sense  of 
humour  triumphed  and  she  laughed  quietly  until  the 
tears  came.  There  was  no  need  now  to  meditate 
upon  that  mysterious  look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  for  she 
had  translated  it  herself. 

"The  idea,"  said  Rose  to  herself.  "That  foolish 
little  child!"  She  tried  to  recall  the  conversation  at 
the  breakfast  table,  and  remembered,  with  regret, 
that  they  had  discussed  Isabel  quite  freely.  The 
thought  that  Isabel  might  have  been  listening  before 
she  made  her  presence  known  came  forward  per 
sistently,  though  Rose  hated  herself  for  it. 


94  ®l&  1Rose  ant)  Silver 

Then,  with  swift  resolution,  she  put  all  annoying 
thoughts  aside  to  dwell,  happily,  upon  the  perfect 
hour  that  nothing  could  ever  change  or  spoil.  She 
went  into  the  hall  by  another  door  opening  out  of  the 
library,  thus  avoiding  Isabel,  and  sought  her  own 
room,  singing  to  herself: 

"The  year's  at  the  spring, 

And  day's  at  the  morn, 
The  morning's  at  seven, 

The  hillside's  dew-pearled, 
The  lark's  on  the  wing, 

The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in  His  heaven — 

All's  right  with  the  world  I" 


IX 

A  fmfgbt=£rrant 

ANOTHER  mongrel  had  been  added  to  the  Crosby 
collection,  so  the  canine  herd  now  numbered  twenty, 
all  in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits.  Some  unpleasant 
ness  had  been  caused  at  the  breakfast  table  by  a  gentle 
hint  from  Juliet  to  the  effect  that  the  dog  supply 
seemed  somewhat  in  excess  of  the  demand.  She  had 
added  insult  to  injury  by  threatening  to  chloroform 
the  next  dog  her  brother  brought  home. 

"Huh!"  Romeo  sneered,  "they're  as  much  yours 
as  mine.  You  brought  home  the  spotted  one 
yourself. " 

"That  was  only  because  the  boys  were  teasing  him. 
I  didn't  want  him." 

"I've  never  brought  home  any  without  good 
reasons,  and  you  know  it.  Besides,  we've  got  room 
here  for  forty  dogs,  and  they're  all  fenced  in.  They 
don't  bother  anybody." 

"Except  by  barking,"  complained  Juliet. 

"They  don't  bark  much  unless  somebody  goes  by, 
and  there  aren't  any  neighbours  near  enough  to  hear 
'em,  even  then." 

"They  do  bark,"  Juliet  put  in  fretfully.  "They 
bark  all  the  time  at  something.  They  bark  when 
they're  hungry  and  when  they've  eaten  too  much, 
and  they  bark  at  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars,  and 

95 


96  ©U>  Ktose  anfc  Silver 

when  they're  not  barking,  some  or  all  of  'em  are 
fighting.  They  drive  me  crazy." 

"Jule,"  said  Romeo,  sternly,  "I  don't  see  what's 
the  matter  with  you  lately.  You  act  like  a  sissy  girl. 
Go  up  into  the  attic  and  work  on  the  trapeze  for  an 
hour  or  two,  and  you'll  feel  better.  It  wouldn't  sur 
prise  me  now  if  you  got  so  sissy  that  you  were  afraid 
of  mice  and  snakes." 

Juliet's  anger  rose  to  the  point  of  tears.  "I'm  not 
afraid  of  mice,"  she  sobbed,  "and  you  know  it.  And 
I'll  hold  a  little  green  snake  by  the  tail  just  as  long  as 
you  will,  so  there!" 

Man-like,  Romeo  hated  tears.  "Shut  up,  Jule," 
he  said,  not  unkindly,  "and  we'll  arbitrate." 

When  her  sobs  ceased  and  she  had  washed  her  face 
in  cold  water,  they  calmly  argued  the  question  at 
issue.  Romeo  candidly  admitted  that  twenty  dogs 
might  well  be  sufficient  for  people  of  simple  tastes, 
and  Juliet,  did  not  deny  that  only  a  "sissy  girl"  would 
be  annoyed  by  barking.  Eventually,  Romeo  promised 
not  to  bring  home  any  more  dogs  unless  the  present 
supply  should  be  depleted  by  disappearance  or  acci 
dent,  and  Juliet  promised  not  to  chloroform  any 
without  his  consent.  With  one  accord,  they  decided 
to  fit  out  the  dogs  with  brown  leather  collars  trimmed 
with  yellow  and  to  train  the  herd  to  follow  the 
automobile. 

"They  ought  to  be  trained  by  the  thirtieth  of 
June,"  observed  Romeo.  "It  would  make  more  of  a 
celebration  for  Uncle  if  we  took  'em  along." 

"Did  you  order  the  monogram  put  on  the 
automobile?" 

"Sure.  I  told  'em  to  put  'The  Yellow  Peril'  on 
each  door  and  on  the  back,  and  the  initials,  'C.  T.' 


a  1fmi0bt>j£rrant  97 

above  it  everywhere."  The  twins  had  adopted  a 
common  monogram,  signifying  "Crosby  Twins."  It 
adorned  their  stationery  and  their  seal,  but,  as  they 
seldom  wrote  letters,  it  had  not  been  of  much  use. 

"We  might  have  the  initials  put  on  the  dogs' 
collars,  too,"  Juliet  suggested. 

"Sure,"  assented  Romeo,  cordially.  "Then,  if  we 
lose  any  of  'em  on  the  road,  we  can  identify  'em  when 
they're  found,  and  get  'em  back." 

Juliet  saw  that  she  had  made  a  mistake  and  hoped 
Romeo  would  forget  about  it,  but  vainly,  for  he 
lounged  over  and  made  a  memorandum  on  the  slate 
that  hung  in  the  hall. 

"I  wonder,"  continued  Romeo,  thoughtfully,  "if 
the  yard  is  big  enough  to  train  'em  in.  We  ought  not 
to  go  out  on  the  road  until  the  thirtieth. " 

"That's  easy  enough,"  Juliet  answered,  with  a 
superior  air. 

"How'd  you  go  about  it?"  he  demanded. 

"If  they  were  my  dogs  and  I  wanted  'em  to  follow 
me  in  an  automobile,  I'd  let  'em  fast  for  a  day  or  two 
and  fill  the  back  seat  of  the  machine  with  raw  meat. 
They'd  follow  quick  enough  and  be  good  and  lively 
about  it,  too.  They  wouldn't  need  to  be  trained." 

"Jule,"  said  Romeo,  solemnly,  "will  you  please 
forgive  me  for  calling  you  a  'sissy  girl'?" 

"Sure!"  Juliet  had  learned  long  before  she  was 
twenty,  that  "forgive  me,"  from  a  man's  lips,  indi 
cates  the  uttermost  depths  of  abasement  and  devotion. 

"The  fasting  won't  hurt  'em,"  Romeo  continued, 
eager  to  change  the  subject.  "They're  all  in  good 
condition  now." 

"Except  the  last  one.  You  can  see  some  of  his  ribs 
yet." 


98  ©tt>  IRose  anfc  Stiver 

"You  can't  by  June." 

"No,  I  guess  not.  Say,  Romie,  oughtn't  she  to  be 
coming  to  see  us  by  now?'r 

"Who?" 

"Isabel — what's-her-name.  You  know,  up  at 
Bernard's. " 

Happy-hearted  comrade  though  she  was,  Juliet  had 
a  secret  longing  for  feminine  association,  at  rare 
intervals.  It  would  be  pleasant  she  thought,  to  go 
skating  sometimes  with  a  girl  or  two  instead  of  the 
usual  crowd  of  boys.  She  hated  herself  fiercely  for 
disloyalty,  but  the  idea  recurred  persistently. 

"I'm  not  up  on  etiquette, "  Romeo  replied,  casually, 
"but  I  should  think,  if  she  wanted  to  come,  she  could 
do  it  by  now.  We  made  a  polite  call  as  far  as  I  know." 

"We  didn't  leave  any  cards. " 

"  Cards?    What  kind  of  cards?  " 

"Why,  little  cards,  with  our  names  on  'em.  People 
always  leave  'em,  in  the  books,  when  they  make 
calls." 

Romeo  went  over  to  the  slate  again  and  made 
another  memorandum.  "I'll  get  'em.  What'll  we 
have  on  'em?" 

"We  always  go  together,"  Juliet  suggested,  "so  I 
think  one  will  do.  Just  put  on  it '  The  Crosby  Twins, ' 
with  our  address. " 

"No  need  of  the  address.  Everybody  who  knows 
us  knows  where  we  live. " 

"Perhaps,"  Juliet  went  on,  meditatively,  "she 
doesn't  like  me." 

"If  she  doesn't,"  Romeo  retorted,  "I'll  know  the 
reason  why.  Do  you  remember  what  I  did  to  the  red 
headed  boy  from  the  Ridge  who  said  he  wouldn't 
skate  with  the  crowd  if  there  was  a  girl  in  it?  " 


H  1migbt*J6rrant  99 

Juliet  nodded  with  satisfaction.  "But  you  know, 
Romie,  you  can't  hit  a  girl. " 

"That's  so,"  he  admitted  disconsolate^.  "That 
fresh  kid  had  to  wear  beefsteak  over  one  eye  for 
almost  a  week." 

Juliet  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Isabel  with  beefsteak 
bandaged  over  one  eye.  "We  won't  worry  about 
things  we  can't  help,"  she  said,  philosophically. 
"We've  done  the  proper  thing  and  now  it's  up  to  her. 
If  she  doesn't  come  before  we  get  the  automobile,  she 
doesn't  get  invited  to  go  out  in  it. " 

"You  bet  she  doesn't. " 

The  talk  quickly  turned  to  the  unfailing  subject  of 
automobiles.  "The  Yellow  Peril"  had  been  ordered 
and  half  paid  for,  but  there  was  delay  in  delivery. 
The  brown  clothes  trimmed  with  tan  leather  had  also 
been  ordered,  as  well  as  the  brown  felt  hats,  exactly 
alike,  with  yellow  ribbon  bands.  They  had  the  gog 
gles  and  enjoyed  glaring  fiercely  at  each  other  through 
them,  especially  at  meals.  Juliet  had  thought  of 
making  a  veil  of  yellow  chiffon,  but  Romeo  had 
objected  violently.  He  thought  they  should  look  as 
much  alike  as  possible,  so  she  had  yielded. 

They  had  decided  to  make  a  wide  track  through 
the  yard  and  around  the  barn  to  practise  on.  Suitable 
space  for  the  automobile  had  already  been  set  aside 
in  the  barn  and  safely  fenced  in  beyond  the  reach  or 
canine  interference.  Romeo  had  not  seen  the  neces 
sity  of  the  fence  until  Juliet  had  pointed  out  that 
some  of  the  dogs  would  want  to  sleep  on  the  leather 
cushions.  "It  would  make  it  smell  so  doggy,"  she 
had  said,  "that  we'd  have  to  call  it  'The  Yellow  Dog' 
instead  of  'The  Yellow  Peril. '  " 

Romeo,  with  true  masculine  detachment,   could 


ioo  ©Ib  TRose  ant>  Silver 


talk  automobile  with  unfailing  enthusiasm,  and  yet 
think  continually  about  something  else.  The  thought 
that  Isabel  might  not  like  Juliet  had  not  occurred  to 
him.  It  seemed  impossible  that  anybody  should  not 
like  Juliet,  for,  in  the  fond  eyes  of  her  twin,  she  was 
the  most  sane  and  sensible  girl  in  the  world. 

"Anyhow,"  thought  Romeo  as  he  went  to  sleep 
that  night,  "if  Jule  wants  her  to  come  here,  she's 
got  to  do  it,  that's  all.  " 

He  meditated  upon  the  problem  for  several  days 
without  reaching  any  satisfactory  conclusion.  At 
last  he  determined  to  go  up  to  see  Isabel  himself,  and, 
as  he  phrased  it  in  his  own  mind,  "see  how  the  land 
lays."  It  would  be  difficult  to  elude  Juliet,  but,  in 
Romeo's  experience,  the  things  one  determined  to  do 
could  nearly  always  be  done. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  make  an  errand  to  the 
City,  "to  poke  'em  up  a  bit  about  the  machine," 
and  to  get  the  visiting  cards,  which  had  promptly  been 
ordered  by  mail.  Juliet  rather  insisted  upon  going 
along,  but  was  easily  dissuaded  by  the  fact  that 
"there  might  be  a  row,  and  anyway,  it's  a  man's 
job." 

He  came  home  about  dusk  with  several  packages, 
one  of  which  he  carefully  concealed  under  a  pile  of 
leaves  in  the  fence  corner  just  inside  the  yard.  He. 
could  easily  reach  through  the  palings  and  lift  it  over 
the  fence  as  he  passed. 

Juliet  admired  the  cards,  was  delighted  with  a  box 
of  chocolates  and  two  new  novels,  and  condescended 
to  approve  of  Romeo's  new  red  tie.  He  had  gloves  in 
his  pocket,  but  feared  to  show  them  to  her,  gloves 
being  her  pet  object  of  scorn. 

After  they  had  cleared  off  the  table,  Romeo  strolled 


H  ftnigbt-Errant  101 

over  to  the  window.  Five  of  the  dogs  were  gathered 
about  some  small  object  and  the  yard  was  littered 
with  bits  of  white.  Under  his  breath  Romeo  said 
something  that  sounded  like  profanity,  and  Juliet 
pricked  up  her  ears. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  demanded. 

"I  brought  home  some  flowers,"  explained  Romeo, 
carefully,  for  it  was  written  in  the  covenant  that  the 
twins  should  never,  under  any  circumstances,  lie  to 
each  other,  "and  I  must  have  dropped  'em.  The  dogs 
have  torn  'em  to  pieces,  box  and  all. " 

Juliet  clapped  her  hands  gleefully.  "I'm  glad  of 
it!" 

"Why?"  he  asked  quickly,  with  an  uneasy  sense 
that  she  was  a  mind-reader. 

"Because  we've  got  so  many  dogs." 

Romeo  chose  to  take  offence  at  the  innocent 
remark  and  relapsed  into  gloomy  silence.  Disdaining 
to  speak,  Juliet  curled  up  on  the  decrepit  sofa  with  a 
book  and  the  chocolates,  and  presently  went  to  sleep. 

"Fortune  favours  the  brave,"  he  quoted  to  himself, 
as  he  tiptoed  into  the  kitchen,  cautiously  closing  the 
door.  A  subtle  perfume  filled  the  room  and  he  sniffed 
appreciatively.  An  open  bottle  of  vanilla  extract 
stood  on  the  kitchen  table,  where  a  pan  of  fudges  was 
cooling,  marked  off  into  neat  squares.  He  wrapped 
the  pan  in  a  newspaper,  anointed  his  handkerchief 
liberally  with  the  fragrant  extract,  and  softly  stole 
out  into  the  night. 

The  dogs  followed  him  to  the  back  fence,  but  did 
not  bark.  Only  a  few  soft  whines  followed  him  as  he 
sped  down  the  road,  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  adventure 
and  romance.  If  Juliet  should  happen  to  wake,  she 
would  think  he  had  gone  away  because  he  was  angry, 


102  ®ib  TRose  anfc  Silver 


and  never  need  know  that  like  some  misunderstood 
knight  of  old,  he  was  merely  upon  an  errand  of 
chivalry  for  her.  The  fudges  would  do  as  well  as  the 
calla  lilies,  probably,  though  he  felt  instinctively  that 
they  were  not  quite  as  elegant. 

It  was  a  long  way  to  Madame  Bernard's,  and 
Juliet's  knight-errant  was  weary,  after  an  exhausting 
day  in  town.  He  paused  outside  the  gate  long  enough 
to  clean  the  dust  from  his  shoes,  with  the  most  soiled 
of  his  two  handkerchiefs,  then  went  boldly  up  the 
steps  and  rang  the  bell. 

He  was  embarrassed  to  find  Colonel  Kent  and 
Allison  there,  though  the  younger  man's  tact  speedily 
set  him  at  ease  again,  and  enabled  him  to  offer  Isabel 
the  pan  of  fudges  with  unwonted  grace  of  manner. 
Then  he  went  over  to  Madame  Bernard. 

"Juliet  couldn't  come  to-night,"  he  said,  "but 
here's  our  card." 

Madame  could  not  repress  a  smile  as  she  read 
"The  Crosby  Twins"  engraved  in  the  fashionable 
script  of  the  moment.  "How  very  original,  "  she  said, 
kindly.  "Nobody  but  you  and  Juliet  would  have 
thought  of  it." 

"Jule  thought  of  it,"  he  replied,  with  evident 
pride.  "She's  more  up  on  etiquette  than  I  am." 

"If  it's  proper  for  husband  and  wife  to  have  their 
names  engraved  on  the  same  card,"  Madame  went 
on,  "it  must  be  all  right  for  twins." 

"It's  more  proper,"  Romeo  returned,  "because 
nobody  is  so  much  related  as  twins  are.  Husband 
and  wife  are  only  relatives  by  marriage.  " 

Colonel  Kent  laughed  appreciatively.  "Good! 
May  I  have  some  of  Miss  Isabel's  candy?" 

Isabel,    convulsed   with   secret   mirth,   informally 


H  Iwfgbt>Errant  103 

passed  the  pan,  and  only  Romeo  refused.  "I  can 
have  'em  any  time,"  he  said,  generously.  "Doesn't 
Jule  make  dandy  fudges,  though?" 

Everybody  agreed  that  she  did.  Madame  Fran- 
cesca  expressed  something  more  than  conventional 
regret  that  Juliet  had  not  been  able  to  come. 

"She  was  asleep,"  Romeo  explained,  with  studied 
indifference. 

"After  she  wakes,"  suggested  Colonel  Kent,  "we'd 
like  very  much  to  have  you  both  come  to  our  house  to 
dinner." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Romeo,  somewhat  stiffly. 
"We'd  be  very  much  pleased."  Then  to  himself,  he 
added:  "That  was  a  lie,  but  it  wasn't  to  Jule,  so  it 
doesn't  matter." 

Rose  made  friendly  inquiries  about  the  dogs  and 
told  Allison  that  Romeo  was  said  to  have  the  finest 
collection  of  fishing  tackle  in  the  State.  Much  grati 
fied,  Romeo  invited  Allison  to  go  fishing  with  him  as 
soon  as  the  season  opened,  and,  as  an  afterthought, 
politely  included  the  Colonel. 

"I've  never  been  fishing,"  remarked  Isabel,  as  she 
could  think  of  nothing  else  to  say. 

"Girls  are  an  awful  bother  in  a  boat,"  Romeo 
returned,  with  youthful  candour.  "That  is,  except 
Juliet." 

Isabel  flushed  faintly  and  bit  her  lips.  To  relieve 
an  awkward  pause,  Madame  Francesca  asked  Allison 
to  play  something. 

"Yes, "  said  Romeo,  "go  on  and  play.'f  He  meant 
to  be  particularly  courteous,  but  his  tone  merely 
indicated  that  he  would  not  be  seriously  annoyed 
by  music. 

As  the  first  strains  came  from  the  piano  and  violin, 


104  ©l&  IRose  an&  Silver 

Romeo  established  himself  upon  the  couch  beside 
Isabel,  and,  in  a  low,  guarded  tone,  began  to  talk 
automobile.  Isabel  was  so  much  interested  that  she 
wholly  forgot  Aunt  Francesca's  old-fashioned  ideas 
about  interrupting  a  player,  and  the  conversation 
became  animated. 

Both  Rose  and  Allison  had  too  much  good  sense  to 
be  annoyed,  but  occasionally,  until  the  last  chord, 
they  exchanged  glances  of  amusement.  When  they 
stopped,  Isabel  was  saying:  "Your  suits  must  be  just 
lovely." 

Romeo  turned  with  a  lordly  wave  of  the  hand. 
"You  don't  need  to  stop.  Goon!" 

"How  can  you  expect  us  to  play  properly?"  in 
quired  Rose,  tactfully,  "when  you're  talking  about 
automobiles?  We'd  much  rather  listen  to  you." 

"  Begin  over  again,  won't  you?  "  asked  Allison.  He 
added,  with  a  trace  of  sarcasm  wholly  lost  upon 
Romeo:  "We've  missed  a  good  deal  of  it." 

Thus  encouraged,  Romeo  began  again,  thoughtfully 
allowing  Isabel  the  credit  of  the  original  suggestion. 
He  dwelt  at  length  upon  the  fine  points  involved  in 
the  construction  of  "The  Yellow  Peril,"  described 
the  brown  leather  and  the  specially  designed  costumes, 
and  was  almost  carried  away  by  enthusiasm  when  he 
pictured  the  triumphant  progress  of  the  yellow  car, 
followed  by  twenty  dogs  in  appropriate  collars. 

"Can  you,"  he  inquired  of  Allison,  "think  of  any 
thing  more  like  a  celebration  that  we  could  do  for 
Uncle?" 

"No,"  replied  Allison,  choking  back  a  laugh, 
"unless  you  went  out  at  night,  too,  and  had  fireworks." 

Romeo's  expressive  face  indicated  displeasure. 
"Uncle  was  such  a  good  man,"  he  said,  in  a  tone 


H  fmlgbteErrant  105 

of  quiet  rebuke,  "that  I  don't  believe  it  would  be 
appropriate." 

Allison  coughed  and  Colonel  Kent  hastily  went  to 
the  window.  Madame  hid  her  face  for  an  instant 
behind  her  fan  and  Isabel  laughed  openly.  "I'm  sure 
he  was,"  said  Rose,  quickly.  "Can  you  remember 
him  at  all?" 

"No,"  Romeo  responded,  "we've  never  seen  him, 
but  he  was  a  brick  all  the  same. " 

"Are  you  going  to  run  the  car  yourself?"  queried 
Rose. 

"Of  course.  Some  day  I'll  take  you  out,"  he  sug 
gested,  kindly,  then  turned  to  Isabel  and  played  his 
highest  trump.  "Juliet  said  something  about  asking 
you  to  go  with  us  the  second  time  we  went  out.  Of 
course  it's  her  place  to  do  it." 

"I'd  love  to  go,"  murmured  Isabel. 

"She'll  ask  you  when  you  come  out  to  return  her 
call,"  Romeo  continued. 

"I've  been  meaning  to  come,  but  I've  been  waiting 
for  good  roads." 

"When  you  come,"  he  answered,  "don't  say  any 
thing  about  my  having  been  here.  It  might  make  her 
feel  bad  to  think  I  went  out  calling  and  left  her 
asleep." 

"All  right— I  won't." 

As  soon  as  it  was  possible,  without  obvious  effort, 
Romeo  made  his  escape,  after  shaking  hands  with 
everyone  and  promising  to  come  again  very  soon. 
"I'll  bring  Jule  next  time.  Good-night!" 

Once  outside,  he  ran  toward  home  like  a  hunted 
wild  animal,  hoping  with  all  his  heart  that  Juliet  was 
still  asleep.  It  was  probable,  for  more  than  once  she 
had  slept  on  the  sofa  all  night. 


106  <S>R>  "Rose  ant)  Silver 

But  the  kindly  fate  that  had  hitherto  guided  him 
suddenly  failed  him  now.  When  he  rea.ched  home, 
panting  and  breathless,  having  discovered  that  it  was 
almost  midnight,  a  drooping  little  figure  in  a  torn 
kimono  opened  the  door  and  fell,  weeping  into  his 
arms. 

"Oh,  Romie!  Romie!"  cried  Juliet,  hysterically. 
"Where  have  you  been?" 

"There,"  he  said,  patting  her  shoulder  awkwardly. 
"Don't  take  on  so,  Jule.  You  were  asleep,  so  I  went 
out  for  a  walk.  I  met  Colonel  Kent  and  Allison  and 
I've  been  with  them  all  the  evening.  I'm  sorry  I 
stayed  so  long. " 

"I  haven't  lied,"  he  continued,  to  himself,  exult 
antly.  "Every  word  is  the  literal  truth. " 

"Oh,  Romie,"  sobbed  Juliet,  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
tears,  "I  don't  care  where  you've  been  as  long  as  I've 
got  you  back!  We're  twins  and  we've  got  to  stand  by 
each  other!" 

Romeo  gently  extricated  himself  from  her  clinging 
arms,  then  stooped  to  kiss  her  wet  cheek.  ' '  You  bet ! ' ' 
he  whispered. 


CONTRARY  to  the  usual  custom  of  woman,  Isabel  was 
ready  fully  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time.  She 
stood  before  the  fire,  buttoning  a  new  glove  with  the 
sense  of  abundant  leisure  that  new  gloves  demand. 
The  dancing  flames  picked  out  flashes  of  light  from  the 
silver  spangles  of  her  gown  and  sent  them  into  the 
farthest  corners  of  the  room.  A  long  white  plume 
nestled  against  her  dark  hair  and  shaded  her  face 
from  the  light,  but,  even  in  the  shadow,  she  was 
brilliant,  for  her  eyes  sparkled  and  the  high  colour 
bloomed  upon  her  cheeks. 

Madame  Bernard  and  Rose  sat  near  by,  openly 
admiring  her.  She  was  almost  childish  in  her  delight 
at  the  immediate  prospect  and  could  scarcely  wait 
for  Allison  to  call  for  her.  She  went  to  the  window 
and  peered  eagerly  into  the  darkness,  waiting. 

"Isabel,  my  dear,"  said  Madame,  kindly,  "never 
wait  at  the  window  for  an  unmarried  man.  Nor," 
she  added  as  an  afterthought,  "for  a  married  man, 
unless  he  happens  to  be  your  own  husband." 

Isabel  turned  back  into  the  room,  smiling,  her 
colour  a  little  brighter  than  before.  "Why  not?" 

"Men  keep  best,"  returned  Madame,  somewhat 
enigmatically,  "in  a  cool,  dry  atmosphere.  If  you'll 

107 


io8  ©l&  "Rose  anb  Silver 

remember  that  fact,  it  may  save  you  trouble  in  the 
years  to  come." 

"Such  worldly  wisdom,"  laughed  Rose,  "from  such 
an  unworldly  woman!" 

"I  do  love  the  theatre,"  Isabel  sighed,  "and  I 
haven't  seen  a  play  for  a  long  time." 

"  I'm  afraid  we  haven't  done  as  much  as  we  might 
to  make  it  pleasant  for  you,"  Madame  continued, 
regretfully,  "but  we'll  try  to  do  better  and  doubtless 
can,  now  that  the  weather  is  improving." 

"It's  been  lots  nicer  than  staying  alone  in  a  hotel," 
the  girl  answered.  "I  used  to  go  to  the  matine'e  a 
good  deal,  but  I  didn't  know  very  many  people  and 
it's  no  fun  to  go  alone.  Don't  you  and  Rose  ever  go, 
Aunt  Francesca?" 

"I  go  sometimes,"  said  Rose,  "but  I  can't  even 
get  her  started." 

The  little  grey  lady  laughed  and  tapped  the  arm  of 
her  chair  with  her  folded  fan.  "I  fully  agree  with  the 
clever  man  who  said  that '  life  would  be  very  endurable 
were  it  not  for  its  pleasures. '  Far  back,  somewhere, 
there  must  be  a  strain  of  Scotch  ancestry  in  me,  for  I 
1  take  my  pleasure  sadly. ' 

"Which  means,"  commented  Rose,  "that  the 
things  other  people  find  amusing  do  not  necessarily 
amuse  you." 

"Possibly,"  Madame  assented,  with  a  shrug  of  her 
delicate  shoulders,  "but  unless  I'm  obliged  to,  I  won't 
sit  in  an  uncomfortable  chair,  in  a  crowd,  surrounded 
by  many  perfumes  unhappily  mixed,  be  played  to  by 
a  bad  orchestra,  walked  on  at  will  by  rude  men,  and 
in  the  meantime,  watch  the  exaggerated  antics  of 
people  who  cannot  make  themselves  heard,  even  in  a 
room  with  only  three  sides  to  it. " 


109 

"I  took  her  to  a  'musical  comedy*  once,  in  a 
frivolous  moment,"  explained  Rose,  "and  she's  never 
forgiven  me." 

"Why  remind  me  of  it?"  questioned  Madame. 
"I've  been  endeavouring  for  years  to  forget  it." 

Isabel's  eyes  wandered  anxiously  to  the  clock.  She 
had  a  strong  impulse  to  go  to  the  window  again,  but 
remembered  that  Madame  would  not  approve. 

Presently  there  was  the  sound  of  wheels  outside, 
and  Allison,  very  handsome  in  his  evening  clothes, 
came  in  with  an  apology  for  his  tardiness.  After 
greeting  Madame  Bernard  and  Rose,  he  bowed  to 
Isabel,  with  a  mock  deference  which,  none  the  less, 
contained  subtle  flattery. 

"Silver  Girl,"  he  said,  "you  do  me  too  much 
honour.  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  one  escort  is  sufficient 
for  so  much  loveliness." 

Isabel  smiled,  then  dimpled  irresistibly.  She  had  a 
secret  sense  of  triumph  which  she  did  not  stop  to 
analyse. 

"Come, "  he  said.  "In  the  words  of  the  poet,  'the 
carriage  waits. ' 

They  said  good-night  to  the  others,  and  went  out. 
There  was  silence  in  the  room  until  the  sound  of 
wheels  had  quite  died  away,  then  Rose  sighed.  With 
a  swift  pang,  she  envied  Isabel's  glorious  youth,  then 
the  blood  retreated  from  her  heart  in  shame. 

Madame  sighed  too,  but  for  a  different  reason. 
"I  suppose  I  shouldn't  say  it,"  she  remarked,  "but 
it's  a  relief  to  have  that  dear  child  out  of  the  house 
for  a  little  while. " 

"It's  kind  of  Allison  to  take  her,"  Rose  answered, 
trying  not  to  wish  that  she  might  change  places  with 
Isabel. 


i  io  ©tt>  IRose  an&  Silver 


"Very  kind.  The  Kents  are  singularly  decent 
about  everything.  I  suppose  it  was  Allison  who 
managed  to  have  Romeo  Crosby  call  upon  her  the 
other  evening." 

"I  hardly  think  so.  You  remember  that  Allison 
hadn't  seen  him  since  he  grew  up.  " 

"Shot  up,  you  mean.    How  rapidly  weeds  grow!" 

"Are  the  twins  weeds?" 

"I  think  so.  Still,  they're  a  wholesome  and  stimu 
lating  sort,  even  though  they  have  done  just  as  they 
pleased." 

The  fire  died  down  into  embers.  The  stillness  would 
have  been  unbearable  had  it  not  been  for  the  steady 
ticking  of  the  clock.  Madame  leaned  back  in  her 
chair  and  closed  her  eyes.  Rose  tried  to  read,  but 
could  not  concentrate  her  mind  upon  the  page. 

Her  thoughts  were  far  away,  with  the  two  who  had 
so  recently  left  the  house.  In  fancy  she  saw  the 
brilliantly  lighted  streets,  the  throng  of  pleasure 
seekers  and  pretty  women  in  gay  attire.  She  heard 
the  sound  of  wheels,  the  persistent  "honk-honk"  of 
motor-cars,  and,  in  the  playhouse,  the  crash  of  cym 
bals  and  drums.  Somewhere  in  the  happy  crowd 
were  Allison  and  Isabel,  while  she  sat  in  silence  at 
home. 

Madame  Francesca  stirred  in  her  chair.  "I've 
been  asleep,  I  think." 

"You're  not  going  to  wait  until  they  come  home, 
are  you?" 

'  '  Why  should  I  ?    Isabel  has  a  key  .  " 

Rose  remembered  how  Aunt  Francesca  had  in 
variably  waited  for  her,  when  some  gallant  cavalier 
had  escorted  her  to  opera  or  play,  and  was  foolishly 
glad,  for  no  discoverable  reason. 


m 


"I  was  dreaming,"  Madame  went  on,  drowsily, 
"of  the  little  house  where  Love  lived." 

"Where  was  it?"  asked  Rose  gently. 

"You  know.  I've  told  you  of  the  little  house  in 
the  woods  where  I  went  as  a  bride,  when  I  was  no 
older  than  Isabel.  When  we  turned  the  key  and  went 
away,  we  must  have  left  some  of  our  love  there.  I've 
never  been  back,  but  I  like  to  think  that  some  of  the 
old-time  sweetness  is  still  in  the  house,  shut  away  like 
a  jewel  of  great  price,  safe  from  meddling  hands." 

Only  once  before,  in  the  fifteen  years  they  had  lived 
together,  had  Madame  Bernard  spoken  of  her  brief 
marriage,  yet  Rose  knew,  by  a  thousand  little  be 
trayals,  that  the  past  was  not  dead,  but  vitally  alive. 

"I  can  bear  it,"  said  Madame,  half  to  herself, 
"because  I  have  been  his  wife.  If  he  had  been  taken 
away  before  we  were  married,  I  should  have  gone,  too. 
But  now  I  have  only  to  wait  until  God  brings  us 
together  again." 

.  Outwardly,  Rose  was  calm  and  unperturbed;  in 
wardly,  tense  and  unstrung.  She  wondered  if.  at  last, 
the  sorrow  had  been  healed  enough  for  speech.  Up 
stairs  there  was  a  room  that  was  always  locked.  No 
one  but  Aunt  Francesca  ever  entered  it,  and  she  but 
rarely.  Once  or  twice,  Rose  had  chanced  to  see  her 
coming  through  the  open  door,  transfigured  by  some 
spiritual  exaltation  too  great  for  words.  For  days 
afterward  there  was  about  her  a  certain  uplift  of  soul, 
fading  gradually  into  her  usual  serenity. 

Mr.  Boffin  stalked  in,  jumped  into  Madame's  lap, 
and  began  to  purr  industriously.  She  laughed  as  she 
stroked  his  tawny  head  and  the  purr  increased  rapidly 
in  speed  and  volume. 

"Don't  let  him  burst  himself,"  cautioned  Rose, 


ii2  ©lt>  IRose  ant>  Silver 

welcoming  the  change  of  mood.  "  I  never  knew  a  cat 
to  purr  so — well,  so  thoroughly,  did  you?" 

"He's  lost  his  hold  of  the  brake,"  Madame 
answered.  "Are  you  going  to  wait  until  Isabel  comes 
home?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Then  let's  go  up  and  read  for  a  little  while." 

Rose  waited  until  Madame  was  half-way  up  the 
long  flight  before  she  turned  down  the  lights  and 
followed  her.  It  made  a  pretty  picture — the  little 
white-haired  lady  in  grey  on  the  long  stairway,  with 
the  yellow  cat  upon  her  shoulder,  looking  back  with 
the  inscrutable  calmness  of  the  Sphinx. 

Rose  felt  that,  for  herself,  sleep  would  be  impossible 
until  Isabel  returned.  She  hoped  that  Aunt  Francesca 
would  not  want  her  to  read  aloud,  but,  as  it  chanced, 
she  did.  However,  the  chosen  book  was  of  the  sort 
which  banishes  insomnia,  and,  in  less  than  an  hour, 
Madame  was  sound  asleep,  with  Mr.  Boffin  purring 
in  his  luxurious  silk-lined  basket  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed. 

Alone  in  her  own  room,  Rose  waited,  frankly 
jealous  of  her  young  cousin  and  fiercely  despising 
herself  for  it.  She  recalled  the  happy  hours  she  and 
Allison  had  spent  with  their  music  and  berated  her 
self  bitterly  for  her  selfishness,  but  to  no  avail.  As  the 
hours  dragged  by,  every  moment  seemed  an  eternity. 
Worn  by  her  unaccustomed  struggle  with  self,  she 
finally  slept. 

Meanwhile,  Isabel  was  the  gayest  of  the  gay.  The 
glittering  lights  of  the  playhouse  formed  a  fitting 
background  for  her,  and  Allison  watched  her  beautiful, 
changing  face  with  an  ever-increasing  sense  of  delight. 
The  play  itself  was  an  old  story  to  him,  but  the  girl 


1 1 3 

was  a  new  sensation,  and  while  she  watched  the 
mimic  world  beyond  the  footlights,  he  watched  her. 

The  curtain  of  the  first  act  descended  upon  a 
woman,  waiting  at  the  window  for  a  man  who  did  not 
come,  and,  most  happily,  Isabel  remembered  the  con 
versation  at  home  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening. 

"Foolish  woman,"  she  said,  "to  wait  at  the 
window." 

"Why?"  asked  Allison,  secretly  amused. 

"I  wouldn't  wait  at  the  window  for  an  unmarried 
man,  nor  for  a  married  men,  either,  unless  he  was  my 
own  husband." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  again. 

"Because  men  keep  best  in  a  cool,  dry  atmosphere. 
Didn't  you  know  that?" 

"How  did  you  happen  to  discover  it,  Sweet-and- 
Twenty?" 

Isabel  answered  with  a  smile,  which  meant  much  or 
little,  as  one  chose.  Presently  she  remembered  some 
thing  else  that  happened  to  be  useful. 

"Look,"  she  said,  indicating  a  man  in  the  front 
seat  who  had  fallen  asleep.  "  He's  taking  his  pleasure 
sadly." 

"Perhaps  he's  happier  to  be  asleep.  He  may  not 
care  for  the  play." 

"Somebody  once  said,"  she  went  on  hastily,  seeing 
that  she  was  making  a  good  impression,  "that  life 
would  be  very  endurable  were  it  not  for  its  pleasures." 

Allison  laughed.  He  had  the  sense  of  discovering 
a  bright  star  that  had  been  temporarily  overshadowed 
by  surrounding  planets. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  could  talk  so  well, "  he  observed, 
with  evident  admiration. 

Isabel  flushed  with  pleasure — not  guilt.     She  had 


ii4  ©to  TRose  anfc  Silver 

no  thought  of  sailing  under  false  colours,  but  reflected 
the  life  about  her  as  innocently  as  a  mirror  might,  if 
conveniently  placed. 

Repeated  curtain  calls  for  the  leading  woman,  at 
the  end  of  the  third  act,  delayed  the  final  curtain  by 
the  few  minutes  that  would  have  enabled  them  to 
catch  the  earlier  of  the  two  theatre  trains.  Allison 
was  not  wholly  displeased,  though  he  feared  that 
Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  might  be  unduly  anxious 
about  Isabel.  As  they  had  more  than  an  hour  and  a 
half  to  wait,  before  the  last  train,  he  suggested  going 
to  a  popular  restaurant. 

Thrilled  with  pleasure  and  excitement,  she  eagerly 
consented.  Fortunately,  she  did  not  have  to  talk 
much,  for  the  chatter  of  the  gay  crowd,  and  the  hard 
working  orchestra  made  conversation  difficult,  if  not 
impossible. 

"I've  never  been  in  a  place  like  this  before,"  she 
ventured.  "So  late,  I  mean." 

"But  you  enjoy  it,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes!  So  much!"  The  dark  eyes  that  turned 
to  his  were  full  of  happy  eagerness,  like  a  child's. 

Allison's  pulses  quickened,  with  man's  insatiable 
love  of  Youth.  "We'll  do  it  again,"  he  said,  "if 
you'll  come  with  me." 

"I  will,  if  Aunt  Francesca  will  let  me." 

"She's  willing  to  trust  you  with  me,  I  think.  She's 
known  me  ever  since  I  was  born  and  she  helped  father 
bring  me  up.  Aunt  Francesca  has  been  like  a  mother 
tome." 

"She  says  she  doesn't  care  for  the  theatre,"  re 
sumed  Isabel,  who  did  not  care  to  talk  about  Aunt 
Francesca,  "but  I  love  it.  I  believe  I  could  go  every 
night." 


115 

"  Don't  make  the  mistake  of  going  too  often  to  see 
what  pleases  you,  for  you  might  tire  of  it.  Perhaps 
plays  'keep  best  in  a  cool,  dry  atmosphere,'  as  you 
say  men  do." 

"You're  laughing  at  me,"  she  said,  reproachfully. 

"Indeed  I'm  not.  I  knew  a  man  once  who  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  a  woman,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
found  that  she  cared  for  him,  he  started  for  the 
uttermost  ends  of  the  earth. " 

"What  for?" 

"That  they  might  not  risk  losing  their  love  for  each 
other,  through  satiety.  You  know  it's  said  to  die 
more  often  of  indigestion  than  starvation." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  she  murmured 
with  downcast  eyes. 

"You  will,  though,  before  long.  Some  awkward, 
half-baked  young  man  about  twenty  will  come  to  you, 
bearing  the  divine  fire. " 

"I  don't  know  any,"  she  answered. 

"How  about  the  pleasing  child  who  called  upon 
you  the  other  night,  with  the  imported  bonbons?" 
Allison's  tone  was  not  wholly  kind,  for  he  had  just 
discovered  that  he  did  not  like  Romeo  Crosby. 

Isabel  became  fairly  radiant  with  smiles. 

"Wasn't  he  too  funny?" 

"  He's  all  right, "  returned  Allison,  generously.  "  I'm 
afraid,  however,  that  he'll  be  taking  you  out  so  much 
that  I  won't  have  a  chance. " 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Isabel,  softly.  Then  she  added 
with  frankness  utterly  free  from  coquetry,  "I  like  you 
much  better. " 

"Really?    Why,  please?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You're  so  much  more,  well, 
grown-up,  you  know,  and  more  refined." 


n6  ©l&  IRose  an&  Silver 


"Thank  you.  I'm  glad  the  slight  foreign  polish 
distinguishes  me  somewhat." 

"Cousin  Rose  said  you  were  very  distinguished." 
She  watched  him  narrowly  as  she  spoke. 

"So  is  Cousin  Rose.  In  fact,  no  one  could  be  more 
so,"  he  answered,  with  evident  approval. 

"Is  she  going  to  play  your  accompaniments  for  you, 
when  you  begin  the  season?" 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face.  "I'm  afraid  not.  I 
wish  she  could." 

"Why  can't  she?" 

"On  account  of  Madame  Grundy.  It  wouldn't  be 
proper." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  objected  Isabel,  daringly. 
"She's  ten  years  older  than  you  are." 

Allison  bit  his  lips  and  the  expression  of  his  face 
subtly  changed.  "You're  ten  years  younger,"  he 
replied,  coldly,  "and  I  couldn't  take  you.  That 
doesn't  make  any  difference." 

Seeing  that  she  had  made  a  mistake,  Isabel  sat 
quietly  in  her  chair  and  watched  the  people  around 
her  until  it  was  time  to  go.  Greatly  to  her  delight, 
they  went  to  the  station  in  an  automobile. 

"Isn't  this  glorious!"  she  cried.  "I'm  so  glad  the 
Crosbys  are  going  to  have  one.  I  hope  they'll  take  me 
often." 

With  the  sure  instinct  of  Primitive  Woman,  she  had 
said  the  one  thing  calculated  to  make  Allison  forget 
his  momentary  change  of  mood. 

"I'm  sorry  I  have  none,"  he  said.  "  'Romeo, 
Romeo,  wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo?'  How  times  have 
changed!  The  modern  Lochinvar  has  a  touring-car, 
and  some  day  you'll  be  eloping  in  the  most  up-to-date 
fashion.  " 


Sweet*anfc*zrwentE  1 1 7 

"What  makes  you  talk  to  me  about  him?"  queried 
Isabel,  with  uplifted  eyes.  "You  know  I  don't  like 
him." 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  good-naturedly.  "I 
won't.  I  hope  Aunt  Francesca  won't  be  worried 
about  you  because  we're  so  late  in  getting  back." 

"I  don't  see  why  she  should  mind.  Mamma  never 
cares  what  I  do.  She's  often  been  away  for  weeks, 
lecturing,  and  I've  been  in  the  hotel  alone." 

He  repressed  the  uncharitable  comment  that  was 
upon  his  lips  and  reverted  to  the  subject  of  the  play. 
"I'm  glad  you've  enjoyed  it.  I  wanted  you  to  have  a 
good  time." 

"I've  had  the  best  time  I  ever  had  in  my  life,"  she 
responded,  with  evident  sincerity.  "Isn't  it  wonder 
ful  what  they  can  do  with  a  room  that  has  only  three 
sides?" 

"It  surely  is.  I've  had  a  good  time,  too,  Silver 
Girl.  Thank  you  for  coming. " 

"You're  welcome,"  she  returned  sweetly. 

The  carriage  was  waiting  at  the  station,  and  Isabel 
was  very  quiet  all  the  way  home.  Thinking  that  she 
must  be  tired,  Allison  said  little  until  they  reached 
Madame  Bernard's,  and  he  had  seen  her  safely  into 
the  house.  He  insisted  upon  taking  off  her  gloves  and 
coat  and  would  have  extended  his  friendly  services  to 
her  hat,  had  she  not  laughingly  forbade  him  to  touch 
it. 

"Good-night,"  he  said.    "We'll  go  again  soon." 

"All  right.  Good-night,  and  thank  you  ever  so 
much." 

The  sound  of  the  key  in  the  lock  had  wakened  Rose 
from  her  uneasy  sleep.  She  heard  their  laughter, 
though  she  could  not  distinguish  what  they  said, 


us  ®ib  IRose  an&  Silver 

and  recognised  a  new  tone  in  Allison's  voice.  She 
heard  the  door  close,  the  carriage  roll  away,  and, 
after  a  little,  Isabel's  hushed  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 
Then  another  door  closed  softly  and  a  light  glimmered 
afar  into  the  garden  until  the  shade  was  drawn. 

Wide-eyed  and  fearful,  she  slept  no  more,  for  the 
brimming  Cup  of  Joy,  that  had  seemed  within  her 
reach,  was  surely  beyond  it  now.  Oppressed  with  loss 
and  pain,  her  heart  beat  slowly,  as  though  it  were 
weary  of  living.  Until  daybreak  she  wondered  if  he, 
too,  was  keeping  the  night  watch,  from  a  wholly 
different  point  of  view. 

But,  man-like,  Allison  had  long  ago  gone  to  sleep, 
in  the  big  Colonial  house  beyond  the  turn  in  the  road, 
idly  humming  to  himself: 

"Come  and  kiss  me,  Sweet-and-Twenty; 
Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure!" 


XI 

•Keeping  f be  ffaitb 

COLONEL  KENT  and  Allison  critically  surveyed  the 
table,  where  covers  were  laid  for  seven.  "Someway 
it  lacks  the  'grand  air'  of  Madame  Bernard's,"  com 
mented  the  Colonel,  "yet  I  can't  see  anything  wrong, 
can  you?" 

"  Not  a  thing , ' '  Allison  returned .  ' '  The  '  grand  air ' 
you  allude  to  conies,  I  think,  from  Aunt  Francesca 
herself.  When  she  takes  her  place  opposite  you,  I'm 
sure  we  shall  compare  very  favourably  with  our 
neighbours. " 

The  Crosby  twins  arrived  first,  having  chartered 
the  station  hack  for  the  evening.  As  the  minds  of 
both  were  above  such  minor  details  as  clothes,  their 
attire  was  of  the  nondescript  variety,  but  their 
exuberant  youth  and  high  spirits  gallantly  concealed 
all  defects  and  the  tact  of  their  hosts  quickly  set  them 
both  at  their  ease. 

Romeo  somewhat  ostentatiously  left  their  card  upon 
the  mantel,  so  placed  that  all  who  came  near  might 
read  in  fashionable  script:  "The  Crosby  Twins." 
Having  made  this  concession  to  the  conventionalities, 
he  lapsed  at  once  into  an  agreeable  informality  that 
amused  the  Colonel  very  much. 

Soon  the  Colonel  was  describing  some  of  the  great 
battles  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  and  Romeo 

119 


120  ©tt>  IRose  anfc  Silver 

listened  with  an  eager  interest  which  was  all  the  more 
flattering  because  it  was  so  evidently  sincere.  In  the 
library,  meanwhile,  Allison  was  renewing  his  old 
acquaintance  with  Juliet. 

"You  used  to  be  a  perfect  little  devil,"  he  smiled. 

"I  am  yet,"  Juliet  admitted,  with  a  frank  laugh. 
"At  least  people  say  so.  Romie  and  I  aren't  popular 
with  our  neighbours." 

"That  doesn't  speak  well  for  the  neighbours.  Were 
they  never  young  themselves?" 

"I  don't  believe  so.  I've  thought,  sometimes,  that 
lots  of  people  were  born  grown-up." 

"They  say  abroad,  that  there  are  no  children  in 
America — that  they  are  merety  little  people  treated 
like  grown-ups." 

"The  modern  American  child  is  a  horror,"  said 
Juliet,  unconsciously  quoting  from  an  article  in  a 
recent  magazine.  "They're  ill  bred  and  they  don't 
mind,  and  there's  nobody  who  wants  to  make  'em 
mind  except  people  who  have  no  authority  to  do  it." 

"Why  is  it?"  inquired  Allison,  secretly  amused. 

"Because  spanking  has  gone  out  of  fashion,"  she 
answered,  in  all  seriousness.  "It  takes  so  much 
longer  for  moral  suasion  to  work.  Romie  and  I  never 
had  any  'moral  suasion, ' — we  were  brought  up  right. " 

Juliet's  tone  indicated  a  deep  filial  respect  for  her 
departed  parents  and  there  was  a  far-away  look  in  her 
blue  eyes  which  filled  Allison  with  tender  pity. 

"You  must  be  lonely  sometimes,"  he  said,  kindly. 

"Lonely?"  repeated  Juliet  in  astonishment;  "why, 
how  could  I  ever  be  lonely  with  Romie?" 

"Of  course  you  couldn't  be  lonely  when  he  was 
there,  but  you  must  miss  him  when  he's  away  from 
you." 


fteeping  tbe  jfaitb  121 

"He's  never  away,"  she  answered,  with  a  toss  of 
her  curly  head.  "We're  most  always  together,  unless 
he  goes  to  town — or  up  to  your  house, "  she  added,  as 
an  afterthought. 

Allison  was  about  to  say  that  Romeo  had  never 
been  there  before,  but  wisely  kept  silent. 

"Twins  are  the  most  related  of  anybody,"  Juliet 
went  on.  "An  older  brother  or  sister  may  get  ahead 
of  you  and  be  so  different  that  you  never  catch  up, 
but  twins  have  to  trot  right  along  together.  It's 
just  the  difference  between  tandem  and  double 
harness." 

"Suppose  Romeo  should  marry?"  queried  Allison, 
carelessly. 

"I'd  die,"  replied  Juliet,  firmly,  her  cheeks  burning 
as  with  flame. 

"Or  suppose  you  married?" 

"Then  Romie  would  die,"  she  answered,  with  con 
viction.  "We've  both  promised  not  to  get  married 
and  we  always  keep  our  promises  to  each  other." 

"And  to  other  people,  too?" 

"Not  always.  Sometimes  it's  necessary  to  break  a 
promise,  or  to  lie,  but  never  to  each  other.  If  Romie 
asks  me  anything  I  don't  want  to  tell  him,  I  just  say 
'King's  X,'  and  if  I  ask  him  anything,  he  says  'it's 
none  of  your  business, '  and  it's  all  right.  Twins  have 
to  be  square  with  each  other. " 

"Don't  you  ever  quarrel?" 

"We  may  differ,  and  of  course  we  have  fought 
sometimes,  but  it  doesn't  last  long.  We  can  always 
arbitrate.  Say,  do  you  know  Isabel  Ross?" 

"I  have  that  pleasure.  She's  coming  to  dinner 
to-night,  with  Aunt  Francesca  and  Miss  Rose." 

"Oh,"  said  Juliet,  in  astonishment.    "If  I'd  known 


1Rose  an&  Silver 


that,  I'd  have  dressed  up  more.  I  thought  it  was 
just  us.  " 

"It  is  'just  us,'  "  he  assured  her,  kindly;  "a  very 
small  and  select  party  composed  of  our  most  charming 
neighbours,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Juliet,  that 
nobody  could  possibly  be  '  dressed  up  more.  ' 

Juliet  bloomed  with  pleasure  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
"Isabel  came  out  to  see  us,"  she  continued,  "and  I 
don't  think  she  had  a  good  time.  We  showed  her  all 
our  fishing  rods,  and  let  her  help  us  make  fudges,  and 
we  did  stunts  for  her  on  the  trapeze  in  the  attic,  and 
Romie  told  her  she  could  have  any  one  of  our  dogs, 
but  she  said  she  didn't  want  it,  and  she  wouldn't  stay 
to  supper.  I  guess  she  thought  I  couldn't  cook  just 
because  she  can't.  Romie  said  if  I'd  make  another 
chocolate  cake  like  the  one  I  made  the  day  after  she 
was  there,  he'd  take  it  up  to  her  and  show  her  whether 
I  could  cook  or  not.  " 

"I  believe  he  would,"  returned  Allison,  with  a 
trace  of  sarcasm  which  Juliet  entirely  missed.  Then 
he  laughed  at  the  vision  of  Romeo  bearing  the  proof 
of  his  twin's  culinary  skill  into  Madame  Bernard's 
living  room. 

"You  come  out  and  see  us,"  urged  Juliet,  hospitably. 

"I  will,  indeed.    May  I  have  a  dog?" 

"They're  Romie's  and  I  can't  give  'em  away,  but  I 
guess  he  could  spare  you  one.  Would  you  rather  have 
a  puppy  or  a  full-grown  dog?" 

"I'd  have  to  see  'em  first,"  he  replied,  tactfully 
steering  away  from  the  danger  of  a  choice.  He  had 
not  felt  the  need  of  a  dog  and  was  merely  trying  to  be 
pleasant. 

"There's  plenty  to  see,  "  she  went  on,  with  a  winning 
smile.  "I  like  dogs  myself  but  we  fought  once  be- 


"Keeping  tbe  ffaitb 

cause  I  thought  we  had  too  many.  We've  named  'em 
all  out  of  an  old  book  we  found  in  the  attic.  There's 
Achilles,  and  Hector,  and  Persephone,  and  Minerva, 
and  Circe  and  Juno,  and  Priam,  and  Eurydice,  and 
goodness  knows  how  many  more.  Romie  knows  all 
their  names,  but  I  don't." 

Hearing  the  sound  of  wheels  outside,  Colonel  Kent, 
with  a  certain  old-fashioned  hospitality  to  which  our 
generation  might  happily  return,  went  to  open  the 
door  himself  for  his  expected  guests.  Juliet  went 
hastily  to  the  mirror  to  make  sure  that  her  turbulent 
curls  were  in  order,  and  Romeo  intercepted  Allison 
on  his  way  to  the  door. 

"I  heard  what  she  said,"  Romeo  remarked,  in  a 
low  tone,  "about  my  having  been  up  here,  but  I 
didn't  tell  her  I  was  here.  I  don't  lie  to  Jule,  but  I'm 
responsible  only  for  what  I  say,  not  for  what  she 
thinks." 

Allison  smiled  with  full  understanding  of  the 
situation.  "We  men  have  to  be  careful  what  we  say 
to  women,"  he  replied,  with  an  air  of  caution  and 
comradeship  that  made  his  young  guest  feel  like  a 
full-fledged  man  of  the  world. 

"Sure,"  assented  Romeo,  with  a  broad  grin  and  a 
movement  of  one  eyelid  which  was  almost — but  not 
quite — a  wink. 

Presently  the  three  other  guests  came  in,  followed 
by  the  Colonel.  Madame  Francesca  was  in  white 
silk  over  which  violets  had  been  scattered  with  a 
lavish  hand,  then  woven  into  the  shining  fabric.  She 
wore  violets  in  her  hair  and  at  her  belt,  and  a  single 
amethyst  at  her  throat.  Isabel  was  in  white,  with 
flounces  of  spangled  lace,  and  Rose  was  unusually 
lovely  in  a  gown  of  old  gold  satin  and  a  necklace  of 


124  ©lt>  "Rose  anfc  Silver 

palest  topaz.  In  her  dark  hair  was  a  single  yellow 
rose. 

Juliet  was  for  the  moment  aghast  at  so  much  mag 
nificence  and  painfully  conscious  of  her  own  white 
muslin  gown.  Madame  Francesca,  reading  her 
thought,  drew  the  girl's  tall  head  down  and  kissed  her. 
"What  a  clover  blossom  you  are,"  she  said,  "all  in 
freshest  white,  with  pink  cheeks  and  sunshiny  curls!" 

Thus  fortified,  Juliet  did  not  mind  Isabel's  instinc 
tive  careful  appraisement  of  her  gown,  and  she  missed, 
happily,  the  evident  admiration  with  which  Romeo's 
eyes  followed  Isabel's  every  movement. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  "  Allison  was  asking  Rose, 
"so  I  could  have  ransacked  the  town  for  golden 
roses?" 

"I've  repeatedly  done  it  myself,"  laughed  Rose, 
"without  success.  I  usually  save  my  yellow  gowns 
for  June  when  all  the  yellow  rose  bushes  in  the  garden 
may  lavish  their  wealth  upon  me." 

"Happy  rose,"  Allison  returned,  lightly,  "to  die  in 
so  glorious  a  cause. ' ' 

The  twins  were  almost  at  the  point  of  starvation 
when  dinner  was  announced,  though  they  had  par 
taken  liberally  of  bread  and  butter  and  jam  just  before 
leaving  home.  Romeo  had  complained  a  little  but 
had  not  been  sufficiently  Spartan  to  refuse  the  offered 
refreshment. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  want  to  feed  me  now  and 
spoil  my  dinner,"  he  grumbled,  as  he  reached  out  for 
a  second  slice. 

"I  don't  want  to  spoil  your  dinner,"  Juliet  had 
answered,  with  her  mouth  full.  "Can't  you  see  I'm 
eating,  too?  We  don't  want  to  be  impolite  when 
we're  invited  out,  and  eat  too  much." 


keeping  tbe  ffaitb  125 

"You've  been  reading  the  etiquette  book,"  re 
marked  Romeo,  with  unusual  insight,  "and  there's 
more  foolish  things  in  that  book  than  in  any  other 
we've  got.  When  we're  invited  out  to  eat,  why 
shouldn't  we  eat?  They  may  have  been  cooking  for 
days  just  to  get  ready  for  us  and  they  won't  like  it  if 
we  only  pick  at  things. " 

"Maybe  they  want  some  left,"  Juliet  replied 
brushing  aside  the  crumbs.  "I  remember  how  mad 
Mamma  was  once  when  the  minister  ate  two  pieces  of 
pie  and  she  had  to  make  another  the  next  day  or 
divide  one  piece  between  you  and  me." 

"I'll  bet  she  made  another.  She  always  fed  us, 
and  I  remember  that  the  kids  around  the  corner 
couldn't  even  have  bread  and  molasses  between 
meals." 

On  the  way  to  the  dining-room,  Juliet  drew  her 
brother  aside  and  whispered  to  him:  "Watch  the 
others,  then  you'll  be  sure  of  getting  the  right  fork." 

"Huh!"  he  returned,  resentfully,  having  been 
accustomed  to  only  one  fork  since  he  and  Juliet 
began  to  keep  house  for  themselves. 

When  he  saw  the  array  of  silver  at  his  plate, 
however,  he  blessed  her  for  the  hint.  As  the  dinner 
progressed  by  small  portions  of  oysters,  soup,  and 
fish,  he  gratefully  remembered  the  bread  and  jam. 
The  twins  noted  that  the  others  always  left  a  little 
on  their  plates,  but  proudly  disdained  the  subterfuge 
for  themselves. 

Madame  Francesca  sat  opposite  the  Colonel  and 
Rose  was  at  his  right,  Romeo  sat  next  to  her 
and  across  from  them  was  Allison,  between  Isabel 
and  Juliet. 

Somewhat   subdued  by  the  unfamiliar  situation, 


126  ©l&  TRose  an&  Silver 


the  twins  said  very  little  during  dinner.  Juliet  took 
careful  note  of  the  appointments  of  the  table  and 
dining-room,  and  of  the  gowns  the  other  women  wore. 
When  Romeo  was  not  occupied  with  his  dinner  and 
the  various  forks,  he  watched  Isabel  with  frank 
admiration,  and  wondered  what  made  the  difference 
between  her  and  Juliet. 

Everybody  tried  to  produce  general  conversation, 
but  could  extract  only  polite  monosyllables  from  the 
twins.  Questions  addressed  directly  to  them  were 
briefly  answered  by  "yes"  or  "no,"  or  "I  don't 
know,"  or,  more  often,  by  a  winning  smile  which 
included  them  all. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Madame  Francesca,  gallantly 
assisted  by  the  Colonel,  the  abnormal  silence  of  the 
younger  guests  might  have  reacted  unfavourably  upon 
the  entertainment,  for  Isabel  was  as  quiet  as  she 
usually  was,  in  the  presence  of  her  aunt  and  cousin. 
Allison  became  unable  to  think  of  topics  of  general 
interest,  and  Rose's  efforts  to  talk  pleasantly  while 
her  heart  was  aching  were  no  more  successful  than 
such  efforts  usually  are. 

But  Madame  Francesca,  putting  aside  the  burden 
of  her  seventy  years,  laughed  and  talked  and  told 
stories  with  all  the  zest  of  a  girl.  Inspired  by  her 
shining  example,  the  Colonel  dragged  forth  a  few 
musty  old  anecdotes  and  offered  them  for  inspection. 
They  were  new  to  the  younger  generation,  and 
Madame  affected  to  find  them  new  also. 

Rose  wondered  at  her,  as  often,  envying  her  the 
gift  of  detachment.  The  fear  that  had  come  upon 
Rose  at  midnight  was  with  her  still,  haunting  her, 
waking  or  sleeping,  like  some  evil  thing.  Proudly  she 
said  to  herself  that  she  would  seek  no  man,  though 


Iteeping  tbe  jfaitb  127 

her  heart  should  break  for  love  of  him;  that  though 
her  soul  writhed  in  anguish,  neither  he  nor  the  woman 
who  took  him  from  her  should  ever  even  suspect  she 
cared. 

She  forced  herself  to  meet  Allison's  eyes  with  a 
smile,  to  answer  his  questions,  and  to  put  in  a  word, 
now  and  then,  when  Madame  or  the  Colonel  paused. 
Yet,  with  every  sense  at  its  keenest,  she  noted  Isabel's 
downcast  eyes,  the  self-conscious  air  with  which 
Allison  spoke  to  her,  and  the  exaggerated  considera 
tion  of  Juliet  which  he  instinctively  adopted  as  a 
shield.  She  saw,  too,  that  Isabel  was  secretly  an 
noyed  whenever  Allison  spoke  to  Juliet,  and  easily 
translated  the  encouraging  air  with  which  Isabel  met 
Romeo's  admiring  glances.  Once,  when  he  happened 
to  turn  quickly  enough  to  see,  a  shadow  crossed 
Allison's  face  and  he  bit  his  lips. 

"How  civilised  the  world  has  become,"  Madame 
was  saying,  lightly.  "The  mere  breaking  of  bread 
together  precludes  all  open  hostility.  Bitter  enemies 
may  meet  calmly  at  the  dinner  table  of  a  mutual 
friend,  and  I  understand  that,  in  the  higher  circles  in 
which  we  do  not  care  to  move,  a  man  may  escort  his 
divorced  wife  out  to  dinner,  and,  without  bitterness, 
congratulate  her  upon  her  approaching  marriage." 

"I've  often  thought,"  returned  the  Colonel,  more 
seriously,  "that  the  modern  marriage  service  should 
be  changed  to  read  '  until  death  or  divorce  do  us  part. ' 
It's  highly  inconsistent  as  it  stands. " 

"  'Consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds,'  " 
she  quoted.  "Inconsistency  goes  as  far  toward  mak 
ing  life  attractive  as  its  pleasures  do  toward  spoiling 
it." 

"What  do  you  call  pleasure?"  queried  Allison. 


128  ©l&  "Rose  an£>  Silver 

"The  unsought  joy.  If  you  go  out  to  hunt  for  it, 
you  don't  often  get  it.  When  you  do,  you've  earned 
it  and  are  entitled  to  it.  True  pleasure  is  a  free  gift 
of  the  gods,  like  a  sense  of  humour." 

By  some  oblique  and  unsuspected  way,  the  words 
brought  a  certain  comfort  to  Rose.  Without  bitter 
ness,  she  remembered  that  Allison  had  once  said:  "In 
any  true  mating,  they  both  know."  Over  and  over 
again  she  said  to  herself,  stubbornly:  "I  will  have 
nothing  that  is  not  true — nothing  that  is  not  true." 

It  was  a  wise  hostess  who  discovered  the  fact  that 
changing  rooms  may  change  moods;  that  many  a 
successful  dinner  has  an  aftermath  in  the  drawing- 
room  as  cold  and  dismal  as  a  party  call.  Madame 
Francesca  had  once  characterised  the  hour  after 
dinner  as  "the  stick  of  a  sky-rocket,  which  never  fails 
to  return  and  bring  disillusion  with  it."  Hence  she 
postponed  it  as  long  as  she  could,  but  the  Colonel 
himself  gave  the  signal  by  moving  back  his  chair. 

An  awkward  pause  followed,  which  lasted  until 
Rose  went  to  the  piano  of  her  own  accord  and  began 
to  play.  At  length  she  drifted  into  the  running  chords 
of  a  familiar  accompaniment  and  Allison  took  his 
violin  and  joined  in.  As  he  stood  by  Rose,  the  mere 
fact  of  his  nearness  brought  her  a  strange  peace.  Had 
she  looked  up,  she  would  have  seen  that  though  he 
stood  so  near  her,  he  had  eyes  only  for  Isabel  and  was 
playing  to  her  alone. 

Isabel  did  not  seem  to  care.  She  sat  with  her  hands 
folded  idly  in  her  lap,  occasionally  glancing  at  the 
twins  who  sat  together  on  a  sofa  across  the  room. 
Madame  Bernard  and  the  Colonel  had  gone  out  on 
the  balcony  that  opened  off  of  the  library. 

The  night  was  cool,  yet  had  in  it  the  softness  of 


Tkeepfng  tbe  jfaftb  129 

May.  Every  wandering  wind  brought  a  subtle, 
exquisite  fragrance  from  orchards  blooming  afar. 
High  in  the  heavens  swung  the  pale  gold  moon  of 
Spring. 

"What  a  night, "  said  Madame,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"  It  seems  almost  as  if  there  never  had  been  another 
Spring." 

''And  as  if  there  never  would  be  another." 

"That  may  be  true,  for  one  or  both  of  us/'  she 
replied,  with  unwonted  sadness. 

"My  work  is  done,"  sighed  the  Colonel.  "I  have 
only  to  wait  now. " 

"Sometimes  I  think  that  all  of  Life  is  waiting,"  she 
went  on,  with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice,  "and  yet  we 
never  know  what  we  were  waiting  for,  unless — when 
all  is  done " 

A  warm,  friendly  hand  closed  over  hers.  "Do  not 
question  too  much,  dear  friend,  for  the  God  who 
ordained  the  beginning  can  safely  be  trusted  with  the 
end,  as  well  as  with  all  that  lies  between.  Do  you 
know,"  he  continued,  in  a  different  tone,  "a  night 
like  this  always  makes  me  think  of  those  wonderful 
lines: 

"  'The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 

From  the  gold  bar  of  Heaven; 
Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand 

And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven.*  ** 

Francesca's  eyes  filled  and  the  stars  swam  before 
her,  for  she  remembered  the  three  white  lilies  the 
Colonel  had  put  into  the  still  hands  of  his  boy's 
mother,  just  before  the  casket  was  closed.  "I 
wonder,"  she  breathed,  "if — they — know." 

9 


TCose  ant)  Silver 


"I  wonder,  too,"  he  said. 

The  strains  of  the  violin  floated  out  upon  the 
scented  night,  vibrant  with  love  and  longing,  with 
passion  and  pain.  Something  had  come  into  the 
music  that  was  never  there  before,  but  only  Rose 
knew  it. 

"Richard,"  said  Francesca,  suddenly,  "if  you 
should  go  first,  and  it  should  be  as  we  hope  and  pray 
it  may  be  —  if  people  know  each  other  there,  and  can 
speak  and  be  understood,  will  you  tell  him  that  I  am 
keeping  the  faith;  that  I  have  only  been  waiting  since 
we  parted?" 

"Yes.  And  if  it  should  be  the  other  way,  will  you 
tell  her  that  I,  too,  am  waiting  and  keeping  the  faith, 
and  that  I  have  done  well  with  our  boy?" 

"I  will,"  she  promised.     "" 

The  last  chord  of  violin  and  piano  died  into  silence. 
Colonel  Kent  bent  down  and  lifted  Madame's  hand 
to  his  lips,  then  they  went  in  together. 


XII 

Bn  BncbanteD  tour 

THE  days  dragged  on  so  wearily  that,  to  Rose,  the 
hours  seemed  unending.  Allison  came  to  the  house 
frequently,  but  seldom  spoke  of  his  music;  for  more 
than  a  week,  he  did  not  ask  her  to  play  at  all.  On  the 
rare  occasions  when  he  brought  his  violin  with  him, 
the  old  harmony  seemed  entirely  gone.  The  pianist's 
fingers  often  stumbled  over  the  keys  even  though 
Allison  played  with  new  authority  and  that  magical 
power  that  goes  by  the  name  of  "inspiration,"  for 
want  of  a  better  word. 

Once  she  made  a  mistake,  changing  a  full  chord 
into  a  dissonance  so  harsh  and  nerve-racking  that 
Allison  shuddered,  then  frowned.  When  they  had 
finished,  he  turned  to  her,  saying,  kindly:  "You're 
tired,  Rose.  I've  been  a  selfish  brute  and  let  you 
work  too  hard." 

Quick  denial  was  on  her  lips,  but  she  stopped  in 
time  and  followed  his  lead  gracefully.  "Yes,  and  my 
head  aches,  too.  If  all  of  you  will  excuse  me,  I'll  go 
up  and  rest  for  a  little  while. " 

Evening  after  evening,  she  made  the  same  excuse, 
longing  for  her  own  room,  with  a  locked  and  bolted 
door  between  her  and  the  outer  world.  Lonely  and 
miserable  though  she  was,  she  had  at  least  the  sense 
of  shelter.  Pride,  too,  sustained  her,  for,  looking  back 


TCose  ant)  Silver 


to  the  night  they  met,  months  ago,  she  could  remem 
ber  no  word  nor  act,  or  even  a  look  of  hers  that  had 
been  out  of  keeping. 

Over  and  over  again  she  insisted  to  herself,  stub 
bornly:  "I  will  have  nothing  that  is  not  true  —  nothing 
that  is  not  true.  "  In  the  midnight  silences,  when  she 
lay  wide  awake,  though  all  the  rest  of  the  world  slept, 
the  words  chimed  in  with  her  heart-beats:  "Nothing 
that  is  not  true  —  nothing  —  that  is  —  not  true." 

Madame  Francesca,  loving  Rose  dearly,  became 
sorely  troubled  and  perplexed.  She  could  not  fail  to 
see  and  understand,  and,  at  times,  feared  that  Allison 
and  Isabel  must  see  and  understand  also.  She 
watched  Rose  faithfully  and  shielded  her  at  every 
possible  point.  When  Isabel  inquired  why  Rose  was 
always  tired  in  the  evening,  Madame  explained  that 
she  had  been  working  too  hard  and  that  she  had  made 
her  promise  to  rest. 

Rose  spent  more  time  than  usual  at  the  piano  but 
she  neglected  her  own  work  in  favour  of  Allison's 
accompaniments.  When  she  was  alone,  she  could 
play  them  creditably,  even  without  the  notes,  but  if 
by  any  chance,  he  stood  beside  her,  waiting  until  the 
prelude  was  finished,  she  faltered  at  the  first  sound  of 
the  violin. 

At  last  she  gave  it  up  and  kept  more  and  more  to 
her  own  room.  Madame  meditated  upon  the  ad 
visability  of  sending  Isabel  away,  providing  it  could 
be  done  gracefully,  or  even  taking  her  on  some  brief 
journey,  thus  leaving  Rose  in  full  possession  of  the 
house. 

Yet,  in  her  heart,  she  knew  that  it  would  be  only  a 
subterfuge;  that  it  was  better  to  meet  the  issues  of 
Life  squarely  than  to  attempt  to  hide  from  them, 


an  Encbantefc  1>our  133 

since  inevitably  all  must  be  met.  She  could  not  bear 
to  see  Rose  hurt,  nor  could  she  endure  easily  the 
spectacle  of  her  beloved  foster  son  upon  the  verge  of  a 
lifelong  mistake.  Several  times  she  thought  of  talking 
to  Colonel  Kent,  and,  more  rarely,  of  speaking  to 
Allison  himself,  but  she  had  learned  to  apply  to  speech 
the  old  maxim  referring  tc  letter- writing:  "When  in 
doubt,  don't. " 

It  happened  that  Allison  came  late  one  afternoon, 
when  Isabel  had  gone  to  town  in  search  of  new  finery 
and  Rose  was  in  her  own  room.  Madame  had  just 
risen  from  her  afternoon  nap,  and,  after  he  had 
waited  a  few  moments,  she  came  down. 

"Where's  Isabel?"  he  asked,  as  he  greeted  her. 

"Shopping,"  smiled  Madame. 

"I  know,  but  I  thought  she'd  be  at  home  by  this 
time.  She  told  me  she  was  coming  out  on  the  earlier 
train." 

"She  may  have  met  someone  and  gone  to  the 
matine*e.  It's  Wednesday. " 

"  She  didn't  need  to  do  that.  I'll  take  her  whenever 
she  wants  to  go  and  she  knows  it. " 

"I  didn't  say  she  had  gone — I  only  said  she  might 
have  gone.  She  may  be  waiting  for  the  trimming  of  a 
hat  to  be  changed,  or  for  an  appointment  with  tailor 
or  dressmaker  or  manicure,  or  any  one  of  a  thousand 
other  things.  When  you  see  her,  she  can  doubtless 
give  a  clear  account  of  herself. " 

"Did  Rose  go  with  her?"  he  asked,  after  a  brief 
pause. 

"No,  she's  asleep,"  sighed  Madame.  "Allison, 
I'm  worried  about  Rose  and  have  been  for  some 
time.  She  isn't  well. " 

"I  thought  something  was  wrong,"  he  replied, 


134  ©K>  TRosc  an&  Silver 

without  interest.  "She  can't  seem  to  play  even  the 
simplest  accompaniment  any  more,  and  she  used  to  do 
wonders,  even  with  heavy  work." 

"I  think,"  ventured  Madame,  cautiously,  "that 
she  needs  to  get  out  more.  If  someone  would  take  her 
for  a  walk  or  a  drive  every  day,  it  would  do  her  good. " 

"Probably,"  assented  Allison,  with  a  far-away  look 
in  his  eyes.  "  If  you  want  to  borrow  our  horses  at  any 
time,  Aunt  Francesca,  when  yours  are  not  available, 
I  hope  you'll  feel  free  to  telephone  for  them.  They're 
almost  eating  their  heads  off  and  the  exercise  would 
do  them  good." 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  shortly.  Allison 
noted  the  veiled  sharpness  of  her  tone  and  wondered 
why  anyone  should  take  even  slight  offence  at  the 
friendly  offer  of  a  coach  and  pair. 

"It  must  be  nearly  time  for  the  next  train,"  he 
resumed.  "Is  there  anyone  at  the  station  to  meet 
Isabel?" 

"Nobody  but  the  coachman  and  the  carriage," 
returned  Madame,  dryly.  "I'm  not  in  the  habit  of 
being  asked  whether  or  not  I  have  made  proper 
provision  for  my  guests." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Francesca.  I  would  have 
known,  of  course,  if  I  had  stopped  to  think." 

"How  is  your  father?"  she  put  in,  abruptly. 

"All  right,  I  guess.  He's  making  a  garden  and  the 
whole  front  yard  is  torn  up  as  though  sewer  pipes 
were  about  to  be  put  in. " 

Madame's  heart  softened  with  pity,  for  she  knew 
that  only  loneliness  would  have  set  the  Colonel  to 
gardening.  "I  must  go  over  and  see  it,"  she  said,  in 
a  different  tone.  "My  valuable  advice  hasn't  been 
asked,  but  I  think  I  could  help  a  little." 


Hn  Encbantefc  l)our  135 

"Undoubtedly.  Your  own  garden  is  one  of  the 
loveliest  I  have  ever  seen.  Isn't  that  the  train?" 

"  I  think  so.  If  Isabel  comes,  I  believe  I'll  leave  you 
to  entertain  her  while  I  drive  over  to  inspect  the  new 
garden. " 

She  was  oppressed,  as  never  before,  by  the  necessity 
of  speech,  and,  of  all  those  around  her,  Colonel  Kent 
was  the  only  one  to  whom  it  would  be  possible  for  her 
to  say  a  word.  She  did  not  stop  to  consider  what  she 
could  accomplish  by  it,  for  in  her  heart,  she  knew  that 
she  was  helpless — also  that  a  great  deal  of  the  trouble 
in  the  world  has  not  been  caused  by  silence. 

Allison  drummed  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  until  he 
heard  the  rumble  of  wheels,  then  went  to  the  window. 
"  It's  Isabel, "  he  announced,  joyously.  "  I'll  go  down 
and  help  her  out — she  may  have  parcels. " 

Presently  they  came  in  together,  laughing.  Isa 
bel's  face  was  flushed  and  Allison  was  heavily  laden 
with  packages,  both  small  and  large.  "I  feel  like 
Santa  Claus,"  he  cried,  gaily,  to  Madame,  as  she 
passed  them  on  the  way  out. 

She  smiled,  but  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  speak, 
"Colonel  Kent's,"  she  called  to  the  driver,  as  she 
closed  the  carriage  door  with  a  resounding  bang, 
"and  please  hurry." 

The  Colonel  was  on  the  veranda  when  she  arrived, 
superintending  the  gardening  operations  from  there. 
He  greeted  her  with  surprise,  for  it  was  not  her  way 
to  drive  over  there  alone.  "I  am  deeply  honoured," 
he  said,  as  he  assisted  her  up  the  steps.  "  May  I  order 
tea?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  answered,  somewhat  primly. 
It  was  evident  that  she  was  ill  at  ease.  "  I  understood 
from  Allison  that  you  were  doing  all  this  yourself. 


136  ©lt>  IRose  ant>  Silver 

Instead,  I  find  you  sitting  on  the  veranda  like  a 
landed  proprietor,  in  command  of  an  army  of  slaves. " 

"Two  Irishmen  don't  make  an  army,"  he  laughed, 
"though  I'll  admit  that,  if  angry,  they  would  make  a 
formidable  force.  I  helped  to  dig  for  a  while  this 
morning,  but  it  didn't  seem  to  agree  with  me,  so  I 
quit.  My  work  seems  to  be  done,"  he  continued, 
with  a  sigh. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  she  returned,  sharply.  "There's 
work  to  be  done,  but  whether  you  or  I  or  both 
together  can  do  it,  is  extremely  doubtful." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Francesca?" 

Madame  leaned  toward  him  confidentially.  "  Rich 
ard,  "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "has  it  ever  occurred  to 
you  that  Allison  might  marry?" 

A  shadow  crossed  his  face,  then  vanished  in  a 
smile.  "Yes.  Why?" 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  woman  you  would  be  willing 
for  him  to  marry?" 

"Only  one." 

"And  she ?" 

"Rose,"  said  the  Colonel,  softly.     "Your  Rose." 

"I've  felt  that  way,  too,"  whispered  Madame. 
There  was  silence  for  the  space  of  a  heart-beat,  then 
she  cried  out  sharply :  "  But  it  isn't  Rose — it's  Isabel ! " 

"What?"  he  cried,  startled  for  once  out  of  his  usual 
calm.  "That  child?" 

"  'That  child'  is  past  twenty,  and  he  is  only  ten 
years  older.  There  was  fifteen  years'  difference  be 
tween  you  and — "  Madame  forebore  to  speak  the 
name  of  the  dead  and  beloved  wife. 

Colonel  Kent  turned  his  dim  blue  eyes  toward  the 
hills.  Behind  them  the  sun  was  setting,  and  he  could 
guess  that  the  gold  of  the  Spring  afternoon  was 


Hn  Encbantefc  t>our  137 

scattered  like  star  dust  over  the  little  sunken  grave. 
He  left  Madame  and  went  to  the  end  of  the  veranda, 
where  he  stood  for  a  few  moments,  facing  the  West. 
Then  he  came  back. 

"Francesca, "  he  said,  slowly,  "you  and  I  are  on  the 
Western  slope  and  have  been  for  a  long  time.  The 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  and 
the  descent  is  almost  made.  But  the  boy  is  young, 
and  most  of  the  journey  lies  before  him.  You  chose 
for  yourself,  and  so  did  I.  Shall  we  not  grant  him 
the  same  right?  " 

"Yes,  but  Rose " 

"Rose,"  interrupted  the  Colonel,  "is  too  good  for 
any  man — even  my  own  son,  though,  as  I  said  before, 
she  is  the  only  woman  I  would  willingly  see  him  marry. 
You  stand  almost  in  his  mother's  place  to  him.  but 
neither  you  nor  I  can  shield  him  now.  We  must  try  to 
remember  that  his  life  is  his — to  make  or  mar. " 

"I  know, "  she  sighed,  "I've  thought  it  all  out." 

"  Besides, "  he  went  on,  "  what  could  we  do?  Separa 
tion  wouldn't  last  long,  if  he  wants  her,  and  talking 
would  only  alienate  him  from  us.  Perhaps  you  could 
bear  it,  but  I— I  couldn't. " 

"Nor  I,"  she  returned,  quickly.  "When  we  come 
to  the  sundown  road,  we  need  all  the  love  we  have 
managed  to  take  with  us  from  the  summit  of  the  hill. 
I  hadn't  meant  to  say  anything  to  anyone, "  she  went 
on,  in  a  changed  tone,  "  but  my  heart  was  full,  and  you 
are " 

"Your  best  friend,  Francesca,  as  you  are  mine.  It 
seems  to  take  a  lifetime  for  us  to  learn  that  wisdom 
consists  largely  in  a  graceful  acceptance  of  things  that 
do  not  immediately  concern  us. " 

"How  like  you, "  she  responded,  with  a  touch  of  her 


138  ©It)  IRose  ant>  Silver 

old  manner.  "I  ask  for  comfort  and  you  give  me  an 
epigram. " 

"Many  people  find  satisfaction  in  epigrams,"  he 
reminded  her.  "Sometimes  a  snap-shot  is  better 
than  an  oil  painting." 

"Or  a  geometrical  design,  or  even  a  map,"  she 
continued,  catching  his  mood.  The  talk  drifted  to 
happier  themes  and  Madame  was  quite  herself  again 
at  dusk,  when  she  rose  to  go. 

On  the  way  back,  she  passed  Allison,  returning 
home  to  dinner  by  a  well-worn  path,  but  he  was  think 
ing  of  something  else  and  did  not  see  her  at  all. 

The  lilac-scented  midnight  was  starred  here  and 
there  with  white  blooms  when  May  went  out  and  June 
came  in.  Drifts  of  "bridal  wreath"  were  banked 
against  the  side  of  the  house  and  a  sweet  syringa 
breathed  out  a  faint  perfume  toward  the  hedge  of 
lilacs  beyond.  Blown  petals  of  pink  and  white  died 
on  the  young  grass  beneath  Madame's  wild  crab-apple 
tree,  transplanted  from  a  distant  woodland  long  ago 
to  glorify  her  garden. 

The  hour  was  one  of  enchantment,  yet  to  Rose, 
leaning  out  into  the  moonless  night,  the  beauty  of  it 
brought  only  pain.  She  wondered,  dully,  if  she  should 
ever  find  surcease;  if  somewhere,  on  the  thorny  path 
ahead,  there  might  not  be  some  place  where  she  could 
lay  the  burden  of  her  heartache  down.  Her  pride, 
that  had  so  long  sustained  her,  was  beginning  to  fail 
her  now.  It  no  longer  seemed  more  vital  than  life 
itself  that  Allison  should  not  know. 

She  had  the  hurt  woman's  longing  for  escape,  but 
could  think  of  no  excuse  for  flight.  She  knew  Aunt 
Francesca  would  manage  it,  in  some  way,  should  she 


Hn  Encbanteb  Dour  139 

ask,  and  that  she  would  be  annoyed  by  no  troublesome 
questions,  yet  loyalty  held  her  fast,  for  she  knew  how 
lonely  the  little  old  lady  would  be  without  her. 

Day  by  day,  the  tension  increased  almost  to  the 
breaking  point.  June  filled  the  garden  with  rosebuds, 
but  their  pale  namesake  in  the  big  white  house  took 
no  heed  of  them.  She  no  longer  concerned  herself 
about  her  gowns,  but  wore  white  almost  constantly, 
that  her  pallor  might  not  show. 

The  roses  broke  from  their  green  sheaths,  then 
bloomed,  opening  their  golden  hearts  to  every  wander 
ing  bee.  The  house  was  full  of  roses.  Aunt  Francesca 
wore  them  even  on  her  morning  gowns  and  Isabel 
made  wreaths  of  red  roses  to  twine  in  her  dark  hair. 
Every  breeze  brought  fragrance  to  the  open  windows 
and  scattered  it  through  the  house. 

Madame's  heart  ached  for  Rose,  but  still  she  said 
no  word,  though  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  blindness  of 
the  others  could  not  last  much  longer.  She  could  not 
take  Rose  away  unless  she  took  Isabel  also,  and, 
should  she  do  that,  things  would  soon  be  just  as  they 
were  now. 

As  Rose  faded,  Isabel  blossomed  into  the  full  flower 
of  her  youth.  Her  high,  bird-like  laugh  echoed  con 
stantly  through  the  house  and  garden,  whether  anyone 
was  with  her  or  not.  With  sinking  heart,  Rose  envied 
her  even  a  tithe  of  her  abundant  joy. 

As  the  moon  approached  its  full,  the  roses  had 
begun  to  drop  their  petals.  Under  every  bush  was  a 
scattered  bit  of  fragrance  that  meant  both  death  and 
resurrection.  Far  down  in  the  garden,  where  the 
sunken  lily-pool  mirrored  the  stars,  the  petals  of 
golden  roses  drifted  idly  across  the  shining  surface. 

Rose  had  worn  white  at  dinner,  as  she  always  did, 


140 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


now,  the  night  the  June  moon  came  to  its  full.  Isabel, 
too,  was  in  white,  but  with  a  difference,  for  as  surely 
as  the  older  woman's  white  was  mourning,  her  silver 
spangles  were  donned  for  joy.  At  the  table,  Madame 
had  done  most  of  the  talking,  for  Isabel's  conversa 
tional  gifts  were  limited,  at  best,  and  Rose  was  weary 
beyond  all  words. 

After  dinner  she  went  to  the  piano  and  struck  a  few 
aimless  chords.  Isabel,  with  a  murmured  excuse, 
went  up  to  her  own  room.  "  Nothing  that  is  not  true, " 
said  Rose  to  herself,  steadily;  "nothing  that  is  not 
true. " 


Presently  a  definite  thought  took  shape  in  her  mind. 
To-morrow  she  would  tell  Aunt  Francesca,  and  see  if 
it  could  not  be  arranged  for  her  to  go  away  somewhere, 
anywhere,  alone.  Or,  if  not  to-morrow,  at  least  the 


, 
an  Encbantefc  ibour 


141 


day  after,  as  soon  as  she  had  seen  him  again.  She 
wanted  one  last  look  to  take  with  her  into  the  prison- 
house,  where  she  must  wrestle  with  her  soul  alone. 

Her  stiff  fingers  shaped  the  melody  that  Aunt 
Francesca  loved,  and  into  it  went  all  her  own  longing, 
her  love,  and  her  pain.  The  notes  thrilled  with  an 
ecstasy  of  renunciation,  and  the  vibrant  chords 
trembled  far  out  into  the  night. 


A  man  entered  the  gate  very  quietly,  paused,  then 
turned  into  the  garden,  to  soothe  his  wildly  beating 
heart  for  a  few  moments  with  the  balm  of  scent  and 
sound.  Upstairs,  behind  the  shelter  of  the  swaying 
curtain,  a  shining  figure  drew  back  into  the  shadow. 
Smiling,  and  with  an  agreeable  sense  of  adventure, 
Isabel  tiptoed  down  the  back  stairs,  and  entered  the 
garden,  unheard,  by  a  side  door. 


142 


©15  TRose  ant>  Silver 


With  assumed  carelessness,  yet  furtively  watching 
she  made  the  circuit  of  the  lily-pool,  humming  to 
herself.  A  quick  leap  and  a  light  foot  on  the  grass 
startled  her  for  an  instant,  then  she  laughed,  for  it  was 
only  Mr.  Boffin,  playing  with  his  own  dancing  shadow. 


The  sound  of  the  piano  had  become  very  faint, 
though  the  windows  were  open  and  the  wind  was  in 
the  right  direction.  Isabel  stopped  at  another  bush, 
picked  a  few  full-blown  white  roses,  and  sat  down  on 
a  garden  bench  to  remove  the  thorns. 

"I  wonder  where  he  can  be,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"Surely  he  can't  have  gone  home  again."  She 
listened,  but  there  was  no  sound  save  the  distant 
piano,  and  the  abrupt,  playful  purr  of  Mr.  Boffin,  as 
he  pounced  upon  a  fallen  white  rose. 

Isabel  put  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  consciously 
missing  the  mirror  in  which  she  was  wont  to  observe 


Hn  Encbantefc  t>our 


the  effect.  "He  must  have  gone  in  while  I  was  com 
ing  down,"  she  thought,  "but  I  don't  see  why  he 
shouldn't  have  gone  straight  in  when  he  first  came. " 
She  decided  to  wait  until  he  came  to  look  for  her, 
then  as  swiftly  changed  her  mind.  Rose  was  still 
playing. 


Isabel  hummed  the  melody  to  herself,  not  noting 
that  she  was  off  the  key,  and  started  slowly  toward 
the  house,  by  another  path. 

Allison  was  standing  in  the  shadow  of  a  maple, 
listening  to  the  music  and  drawing  in  deep  breaths  of 
the  rose-scented  air.  The  moon  flooded  the  garden 
with  enchantment,  and  a  shaft  of  silver  light,  striking 
the  sun-dial,  made  a  shadow  that  was  hours  wrong. 
He  smiled  as  he  saw  it,  amiably  crediting  the  moon 
with  an  accidental  error,  rather  than  a  purposeful  lie. 


144 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


Deeper  and  more  vibrant,  the  woman  within  sent 
the  cry  of  her  heart  into  the  night,  where  the  only  one 
who  could  answer  it  stood  watching  the  shadow  of  the 
moon  on  the  sun-dial  and  the  spangled  cobwebs  on  the 


Hn  Encbantefc  t>our 


145 


grass.  He  picked  a  rose,  put  it  into  his  button-hole, 
and  turned  toward  the  house. 

A  hushed  sound,  as  of  rustling  silk,  made  him 
pause,  then,  at  the  head  of  the  path,  where  another 
joined  it,  Isabel  appeared,  with  white  roses  in  her 
hair  and  the  moon  shining  full  upon  her  face.  The 
spangles  on  her  gown  caught  the  light  and  broke  it 
into  a  thousand  tiny  rainbows,  surrounding  her  with 
faint  iridescence. 

The  old,  immortal  hunger  surged  into  his  veins, 
the  world-old  joy  made  his  senses  reel.  He  steadied 
himself  for  a  moment,  then  went  to  her,  with  his 
arms  outstretched  in  pleading. 

"Oh,  Silver  Girl,"  he  whispered,  huskily.  "My 
Silver  Girl!  Tell  me  you'll  shine  for  me  always!" 


The  last  chord  ceased,  full  of  yearning  that  was 
almost  prayer.  Then  Isabel,  cold  as  marble  and 
passionless  as  snow,  lifted  her  face  for  his  betrothal 
kiss. 


10 


XIII 
TWlbite  (Sloves 

WITH  shyness  that  did  not  wholly  conceal  her  youthful 
pride,  Isabel  told  Madame,  a  few  days  later.  The 
little  old  lady  managed  to  smile  and  to  kiss  Isabel's 
boft  cheek,  murmuring  the  conventional  hope  for  her 
happiness.  Inwardly,  she  was  far  from  calm,  though 
deeply  thankful  that  Rose  did  not  happen  to  be  in  the 
room. 

"You  must  make  him  very  happy,  dear,"  she  said. 

"I  guess  we'll  have  a  good  time,"  returned  Isabel, 
smothering  a  yawn.  "It  will  be  lots  of  fun  to  go  all 
over  the  country  and  see  all  the  big  cities. " 

"I  hope  he  will  be  successful, "  Madame  continued. 
"He  must  be,"  she  added,  fervently. 

"I  suppose  we  shall  be  entertained  a  great  deal," 
remarked  Isabel.  "He  has  written  to  Mamma,  but 
she  hasn't  had  time  to  answer  yet. " 

"I  can  vouch  for  my  foster  son,"  Madame  replied. 

"It  isn't  necessary,"  the  girl  went  on,  "and  I  told 
him  so.  Mamma  never  cares  what  I  do,  and  she'll  be 
glad  to  get  me  off  her  hands.  Would  you  mind  if  I 
were  married  here?" 

Madame's  heart  throbbed  with  tender  pity.  "In 
deed/*  she  answered,  warmly,  "you  shall  have  the 
prettiest  wedding  I  can  give  you.  Your  mother  will 
come,  won't  she?" 

146 


Oloves  147 

"  Not  if  it  would  interfere  with  her  lecture  engage 
ments.  She's  going  to  lecture  all  next  season  on  'The 
Slavery  of  Marriage. '  She  says  the  wedding-ring  is  a 
sign  of  bondage,  dating  back  to  the  old  days  when  a 
woman  was  her  husband's  property." 

Madame  Francesca's  blue  eyes  filled  with  a  sudden 
mist.  Slowly  she  turned  on  her  finger  the  worn  band 
of  gold  that  her  gallant  Captain  had  placed  there  ere 
he  went  to  war.  It  carried  still  a  deep  remembrance 
too  holy  for  speejh.  "Property,"  repeated  the  old 
lady,  in  a  whisper.  "Ah,  but  how  dear  it  is  to  be 
owned!" 

"I  don't  mind  wearing  it,"  said  Isabel,  with  a 
patronising  air,  "but  I  want  it  as  narrow  as  possible, 
so  it  won't  interfere  with  my  other  rings,  and,  of 
course,  I  can  take  it  off  when  I  like. " 

"Of  course,  but  I  would  be  glad  to  have  you  so 
happily  married,  my  dear,  that  you  wouldn't  want 
to  take  it  off — ever." 

"I'll  have  to  ask  Mamma  to  send  me  some  money 
for  clothes,"  the  girl  went  on,  half  to  herself. 

"Don't  bother  her  with  it,"  suggested  the  other, 
kindly.  "Let  me  do  it.  Rose  and  I  will  enjoy  making 
pretty  things  for  a  bride. " 

"I'm  afraid  Cousin  Rose  wouldn't  enjoy  it," 
Isabel  replied,  with  an  unpleasant  laugh.  "Do  you 
know,"  she  added,  confidentially,  "I've  always 
thought  Cousin  Rose  liked  Allison  —  well,  a  good 
deal." 

"She  does,"  returned  Madame,  meeting  the  girl's 
eyes  clearly,  "and  so  do  I.  When  you're  older, 
Isabel,  you'll  learn  to  distinguish  between  a  mere 
friendly  interest  and  the  grand  passion. " 

"She's  too  old,  I  know, "  Isabel  continued,  with  the 


148  ©ID  1Rose  anfc  Stiver 

brutality  of  confident  youth,  "but  sometimes  older 
women  do  fall  in  love  with  young  men. " 

"Why  shouldn't  they?"  queried  Madame,  lightly, 
"  as  long  as  older  men  choose  to  fall  in  love  with  young 
women?  As  far  as  that  goes,  it  would  be  no  worse  for 
Allison  to  marry  Rose  than  it  is  for  him  to  marry 
you." 

"But,"  objected  Isabel,  "when  he  is  .sixty,  she  will 
be  seventy,  and  he  wouldn't  care  for  her." 

"And,"  returned  Madame,  rather  sharply,  "when 
he  is  forty,  you  will  be  only  thirty  .nd  you  may  not 
care  for  him.  There  are  always  two  sides  to  every 
thing,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "and  when  we  get  so 
civilised  that  all  women  may  be  self-supporting  if  they 
choose,  we  may  see  a  little  advice  to  husbands  on  the 
way  of  keeping  a  wife's  love,  instead  of  the  flood  of 
nonsense  that  disfigures  the  periodicals  now. " 

"They  all  say  that  woman  makes  the  home," 
Isabel  suggested,  idly. 

"But  not  alone.  No  woman  can  make  a  home 
alone.  It  takes  two  pairs  of  hands  to  make  a  home — 
one  strong  and  the  other  tender,  and  two  true  hearts. " 

"  I  hope  it  won't  take  too  long  to  make  my  clothes, " 
answered  Isabel,  irrelevantly.  "He  says  I  must  be 
ready  by  September." 

"Then  we  must  begin  immediately.  Write  out 
everything  you  think  of,  and  afterward  we'll  go  over 
the  list  together.  Come  into  the  library  and  begin 
now.  There's  no  time  like  the  present. " 

"Do  you  think,"  Isabel  inquired  as  she  seated 
herself  at  the  library  table,  "that  I  will  have  many 
presents?" 

"Probably,"  answered  Madame,  briefly.  " I'll  come 
back  when  you've  finished  your  list. " 


THUbtte  (Sieves  149 

She  went  up-stairs  and  knocked  gently  at  the 
door  of  Rose's  room,  feeling  very  much  as  she  did 
the  day  she  went  to  Colonel  Kent  to  tell  him  that  the 
little  mother  of  his  new-born  son  was  dead.  Rose 
herself  opened  the  door,  somewhat  surprised. 

Madame  went  in,  closed  the  door,  then  stood  there 
for  a  moment,  at  a  loss  for  words. 

"Has  it  come?"  asked  Rose,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes.    Oh,  Rose,  my  dear  Rose!" 

She  put  her  arm  around  the  younger  woman  and 
led  her  to  the  couch.  Every  hint  of  colour  faded  from 
Rose's  face;  her  eyes  were  wide  and  staring,  her  lips 
scarcely  pink.  "I  must  go  away,"  she  murmured. 

"Where,  dearest?" 

" Anywhere— oh,  anywhere!" 

"I  know,  dear,  believe  me,  I  know,  but  it  never 
does  any  good  to  run  away  from  things  that  must  be 
faced  sooner  or  later.  We  women  have  our  battles 
to  fight  as  well  as  the  men  who  go  to  war,  and  the 
same  truth  applies  to  both — that  only  a  coward  will 
retreat  under  fire. " 

Rose  sighed  and  clenched  her  hands  together 
tightly. 

"Once  there  was  a  ship,"  said  Madame,  softly, 
"sinking  in  mid-ocean,  surrounded  by  fog.  It  had 
drifted  far  out  of  its  course,  and  collided  with  a  dere 
lict.  The  captain  ordered  the  band  to  play,  the  officers 
put  on  their  dress  uniforms  and  their  white  gloves. 
Another  ship,  that  was  drifting,  too,  signalled  in 
answer  to  the  music,  and  all  were  saved." 

"  That  was  possible — but  there  can  be  no  signal  for 
me." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  let's  put  on  our  white  glores  and 
order  out  the  band. " 


150  ©Ifc  IRose  ant)  Silver 

The  unconscious  plural  struck  Rose  with  deep 
significance.  "Did  you — know,  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"For  how  long?" 

"Always,  I  think." 

"  Did  it  seem — absurd,  in  any  way?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  hoping  for  it,  until  the  wind 
changed.  And,"  she  added,  with  her  face  turned 
away,  "Colonel  Kent  was,  too." 

Some  of  the  colour  ebbed  slowly  back  into  the  white 
stricken  face.  "That  makes  me  feel, "  Rose  breathed, 
"as  if  I  hadn't  been  quite  so  foolish  as  I've  been 
thinking  I  was." 

"Then  keep  the  high  heart,  dear,  for  they  mustn't 
suspect." 

"No,"  cried  Rose  sharply,  "oh,  no!  Anything  but 
that!" 

"  It's  hard  to  wear  gloves  when  you  don't  want  to, " 
replied  Madame,  with  seeming  irrelevance,  "but  it's 
easier  when  there  are  others.  The  Colonel  will  need 
them,  too — this  is  going  to  be  hard  on  him. " 

"Does — he — know?"  whispered  Rose,  fearfully. 

"No,"  answered  Madame,  laughing  outright,  "in 
deed  he  doesn't.  Did  you  ever  know  of  a  man 
discovering  anything  that  wasn't  right  under  his 
nose?" 

"And  I  am  safe  with — with " 

"With  everybody  but  Isabel.  She  may  be  foolish, 
but  she's  a  woman,  and  even  a  woman  can  see  around 
a  corner." 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  said  Rose,  after  a 
little;  "for  giving  me  time.  It  was  like  you. " 

"I'm  glad  I  could,  but  remember,  I  haven't  told 
you,  officially.  Let  her  tell  you  herself. " 


Mbite  Cloves  151 

Rose  nodded.  "  Then  I'll  come  down  just  as  soon  as 
lean." 

"With  white  gloves  on,  dear,  and  flags  flying. 
Make  your  old  aunt  proud  of  you  now,  won't  you?" 

"I'll  try,"  she  answered,  humbly,  then  quickly 
closed  the  door. 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Kent,  most  correctly  attired,  was 
making  a  formal  call  upon  his  prospective  daughter- 
in-law,  and  the  list  had  scarcely  been  begun.  Isabel 
sat  in  the  living  room,  trying  not  to  show  that  she  was 
bored.  The  Colonel  had  come  in,  ready  to  receive  her 
into  his  house  and  his  heart,  but  Isabel  had  shaken 
hands  with  him  coolly,  and  accepted  shrinkingly 
the  fatherly  kiss  he  stooped  to  bestow  upon  her 
forehead. 

He  had  tried  several  preliminary  topics  of  conversa 
tion,  which  had  been  met  with  chilling  monosyllables, 
so  he  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  subject,  with 
inward  trepidation. 

"I  told  Allison  this  morning  that  I  owed  him  my 
thanks  for  bringing  me  a  daughter." 

"Yes,"  said  Isabel,  placidly. 

"The  old  house  needs  young  voices  and  the  sound 
of  young  feet,"  the  Colonel  went  on. 

Isabel  began  to  speak,  then  hesitated  and  relapsed 
into  silence.  Mr.  Boffin  came  in,  purring  loudly,  and 
rubbed  familiarly  against  the  Colonel,  leaving  a  thin 
coating  of  yellow  hair. 

"It  seems  to  be  the  moulting  season  for  cats," 
laughed  the  Colonel,  observing  the  damage  ruefully. 

Isabel  moved  restlessly  in  her  chair,  but  said 
nothing.  The  pause  had  become  awkward  when 
the  Colonel  rose  to  take  his  leave. 


152  ©lt>  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

"I  hope  you  may  be  happy,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"and  make  our  old  house  happier  for  your  coming." 

"Oh,"  returned  Isabel,  quickly,  "I  hadn't  thought 
of  that.  I  hadn't  thought  of — of  living  there." 

"The  house  is  large,"  he  ventured,  puzzled. 

"Mamma  has  always  said,"  remarked  Isabel, 
primly,  "that  no  house  was  large  enough  for  two 
families." 

Colonel  Kent  managed  to  force  a  laugh.  "You  may 
be  right,"  he  answered.  "At  least,  everything  shall 
be  arranged  to  your  liking." 

He  had  said  good-bye  and  was  on  his  way  out, 
when  Francesca  came  down  from  Rose's  room.  Seeing 
her,  he  waited  for  a  moment.  Isabel  had  gone  into  the 
library  and  closed  the  door. 

"Whence  this  haste?"  queried  Madame,  with  a 
lightness  which  was  just  then  difficult  to  assume. 
"Were  you  going  without  seeing  me?" 

"I  had  feared  I  would  be  obliged  to,"  he  returned, 
gallantly.  "I  was  calling  upon  my  future  daughter- 
in-law,"  he  added,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  went  out 
on  the  veranda. 

Madame  sighed  and  sank  gratefully  into  the  chair 
he  offered  her.  In  the  broad  light  of  day,  she  looked 
old  and  worn. 

"Well,"  continued  the  Colonel,  with  an  effort  to 
speak  cheerfully,  "the  blow  has  fallen." 

"So  I  hear,"  she  rejoined,  almost  in  a  whisper. 
"What  tremendous  readjustments  the  heedless  young 
may  cause!" 

*•  "Yes,  but  we  mustn't  deny  them  the  right.  The 
eternal  sacrifice  of  youth  to  age  is  one  of  the  most 
pitiful  things  in  nature — human  nature,  that  is.  The 
animals  know  better." 


Mbite  <&lox>es  153 

"Would  you  remove  all  opportunity  for  the  de 
velopment  of  character?"  she  inquired,  with  a  tinge 
of  sarcasm. 

"No,  but  I  wouldn't  deliberately  furnish  it.  The 
world  supplies  it  generously  enough,  I  think.  Allison 
didn't  ask  to  be  born,"  he  went  on,  with  a  change  of 
tone,  "and  those  who  brought  him  into  the  world  are 
infinitely  more  responsible  to  him  than  he  is  to 
them." 

"One-sided."  returned  Madame,  abruptly.  "And, 
if  so,  it's  the  only  thing  that  is.  What  of  the  gift  of 
life?" 

"Nothing  to  speak  of,"  he  responded  with  a 
cynicism  wholly  new  to  her.  "I  wouldn't  go  back 
and  live  it  over,  would  you?" 

"No,"  she  sighed,  "I  wouldn't.  I  don't  believe 
anyone  would,  even  the  happiest." 

"Too  much  character  development?" 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  with  a  shamefaced  flush. 
"You'll  have  a  chance  to  see,  now.  It  will  be  right 
under  your  nose. " 

"No,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  sad  emphasis  which 
did  not  escape  her;  "it  won't.  I  shall  be  at  a  respect 
ful  distance." 

"Why,  Richard!"  she  cried,  half  rising  from  her 
chair;  "what  do  you  mean?  Aren't  you  going  to  live 
with  them  in  the  old  home?" 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head. 

"Why?"  she  demanded. 

The  Colonel  raised  his  hand  to  his  forehead  in  a 
mock  salute.  "Orders,"  he  said,  briefly.  "From 
headquarters." 

"Has  Allison — "  she  began,  in  astonishment,  but 
he  interrupted  her. 


i54  ©l&  TCose  anfc  Silver 

"No."  He  inclined  his  head  suggestively  toward 
the  house,  and  she  understood. 

"The  little  brute,"  murmured  Francesca.  "  Richard, 
believe  me,  I  am  ashamed." 

"Don't  bother,"  he  answered,  kindly.  "The  boy 
mustn't  know.  You  always  plan  everything  for  me — 
where  shall  I  live  now?" 

She  leaned  forward,  her  blue  eyes  shining.  "Oh, 
Richard,"  she  breathed,  "if  you  only  would — if  you 
could — come  to  Rose  and  me!  We'd  be  so  glad!" 

There  was  no  mistaking  her  sincerity,  and  the 
Colonel's  fine  old  face  illumined  with  pleasure. 
Merely  to  be  wanted,  anywhere,  brings  a  certain 
satisfaction. 

"I'll  come,"  he  returned,  promptly.  "How  good 
you  are!  How  good  you've  always  been!  I  often 
wonder  what  I  should  ever  have  done  without 
you." 

He  turned  away  and,  lightly  as  a  passing  cloud,  a 
shadow  crossed  his  face.  Madame  saw  how  hard  it 
would  be  to  part  from  his  son,  and,  only  in  lesser 
degree,  his  old  home. 

"Richard,"  she  said,  "a  ship  was  sinking  once  in  a 
fog,  miles  out  of  its  course.  The  captain  ordered  the 
band  to  play  and  all  the  officers  put  on  their  dress 
uniforms.  Another  ship,  also  drifting,  signalled  in 
answer  to  the  music  and  all  were  saved." 

The  Colonel  rose  and  offered  his  hand  in  farewell. 
"Thank  you,  Francesca, "  he  answered,  deeply  moved. 
"I  put  on  my  white  gloves  the  day  you  came  to  tell 
me.  I  thank  you  now  for  the  signal — and  for  saving 
me." 

She  watched  him  as  he  went  down  the  road,  tall, 
erect,  and  soldierly,  in  spite  of  his  three-score  and  ten. 


Wbite  0lox>es  155 

"Three  of  us,"  she  said  to  herself,  "all  in  white 
gloves."  The  metaphor  appealed  to  her  strongly. 

She  did  not  go  in  until  Isabel  appeared  in  the  door 
way,  list  in  hand,  and  prettily  perplexed  over  the 
problem  of  clothes.  Madame  slipped  it  into  the 
chatelaine  bag  that  hung  from  her  belt.  "We'll  go 
over  it  with  Rose,"  she  said.  "She  knows  more 
about  clothes  than  I  do." 

"Have  you  told  Cousin  Rose?" 

"No,"  answered  Madame,  avoiding  the  girl's  eyes. 
"It's  your  place  to  tell  her — not  mine." 

When  Rose  came  down  to  dinner  that  night,  she 
was  gorgeously  attired  in  her  gown  of  old-gold  satin, 
adorned  with  gold  lace.  The  last  yellow  roses  of  the 
garden  were  twined  in  her  dark  hair,  and  the  rouge- 
stick,  that  faithful  friend  of  unhappy  woman,  had 
given  a  little  needed  colour  to  her  cheeks  and  lips,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life. 

"Cousin  Rose,"  began  Isabel,  a  little  abashed  by 
the  older  woman's  magnificence,  "I'm  engaged — to 
Allison. " 

"Really?"  cried  Rose,  with  well-assumed  astonish 
ment.  "Come  here  and  let  me  kiss  the  bride-to-be. 
You  must  make  him  very  happy,"  she  said,  then 
added,  softly:  "I  pray  that  you  may." 

"Everybody  seems  to  think  of  him  and  not  of  me, " 
Isabel  returned,  a  little  fretfully.  " That's  what  Aunt 
Francesca  said,  and  Allison's  father  seemed  to  think 
more  about  my  making  Allison  happy  than  he  did 
about  my  being  happy  myself. " 

"That's  because  the  only  way  to  win  happiness  is 
to  give  it, "  put  in  Madame.  "  The  more  we  give,  the 
more  we  have. " 

Conversation   lagged   at   dinner,  and    became,  as 


156  ©tt>  TRose  anfc  Silver 

often,  a  monologue  by  Madame.  While  they  were 
finishing  their  coffee,  they  heard  Allison's  well-known 
step  outside. 

"I  wonder  why  he  had  to  come  so  early,"  com 
plained  Isabel.  "I  wanted  to  change  my  dress.  I 
didn't  have  time  before  dinner. " 

"He'll  never  know  it,"  Madame  assured  her. 
"We'll  excuse  you  dear,  if  you're  through.  Don't 
keep  him  waiting. " 

When  the  dining-room  door  closed,  Rose  turned  to 
Madame.  "Did  I " 

"Most  wonderfully." 

"  But  the  hardest  part  is  still  to  come, "  she  breathed 
sadly. 

"  '  I  was  ever  a  fighter,  so  one  fight  more, 
The  best  and  the  last, ' " 

Madame  quoted,  encouragingly. 

Rose  smiled — a  little  wan  smile — as  she  pushed 
back  her  chair.  " Perhaps, "  she  said,  "the  ' peace  out 
of  pain'  may  follow  me. " 

She  went,  with  faltering  step,  toward  the  other 
room,  inwardly  afraid.  Another  hand  met  hers,  with 
a  reassuring  clasp.  "One  step  more,  Rose.  Now 
then,  forward,  march,  all  flags  unfurled. " 

When  she  went  in,  Allison  came  to  meet  her  with 
outstretched  hands.  He  had  changed  subtly,  since 
she  saw  him  last.  Had  light  been  poured  over  him,  it 
would  have  changed  him  in  much  the  same  way. 

"Golden  Rose,"  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  in 
his,  "  tell  me  you  are  glad — say  that  you  wish  me  joy. " 

Her  eyes  met  his  clearly.  "I  do,"  she  smiled. 
"There  is  no  one  in  the  world  for  whom  I  wish  joy 
more  than  I  do  for  you. " 


Mbite  <3lot>e8  157 

"And  I  say  the  same,"  chimed  in  Madame,  who 
had  closely  followed  Rose. 

"Dear  little  foster  mother,"  said  Allison,  tenderly, 
putting  a  strong  arm  around  her.  He  had  not  yet 
released  Rose's  hand,  nor  did  he  note  that  it  was 
growing  cold.  "I  owe  you  everything,"  he  went  on; 
"even  Isabel." 

He  kissed  her,  then,  laughing,  turned  to  Rose. 
"May  I?"  he  asked.  Without  waiting  for  an  answer 
he  turned  her  face  to  his,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 

Cold  as  ice  and  shaken  to  the  depths  of  her  soul, 
Rose  stumbled  out  of  the  room,  murmuring  brokenly 
of  a  forgotten  letter  which  must  be  immediately 
written.  Madame  lingered  for  the  space  of  half  an 
hour,  talking  brightly  of  everything  under  the  sun, 
then  followed  Rose,  turning  in  the  doorway  as  she 
went  out,  to  say:  "Can't  you  even  thank  me  for 
leaving  you  alone?" 

"Bless  her,"  said  Allison,  fondly.  "What  sweet 
women  they  are!" 

"Yes,"  answered  Isabel,  spitefully,  "especially 
Rose." 

He  laughed  heartily.  "  What  a  little  goose  you  are, 
sweetheart.  Kiss  me,  dear — dearest. " 

"I  won't, "  she  flashed  back,  stubbornly,  nor  would 
she,  until  at  last,  by  superior  strength,  he  took  his 
lover's  privilege  from  lips  that  refused  to  yield. 

That  night  he  dreamed  that,  for  a  single  exquisite 
instant,  Isabel  had  answered  him,  giving  him  love  for 
love.  Then,  strangely  enough,  Isabel  became  Rose, 
in  a  gown  of  gold,  with  golden  roses  twined  in  her  hair. 


XIV 
Gbfrttetb  of  June 


DINNER  that  night  had  been  rather  a  silent  affair 
at  Kent's,  as  well  as  at  Madame  Bernard's.  Being 
absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  Allison  did  not  realise 
how  unsociable  he  was,  nor  that  the  old  man  across 
the  table  from  him  perceived  that  they  had  reached 
the  beginning  of  the  end. 

When  Allison  spoke,  it  was  always  of  Isabel. 
Idealised  in  her  lover's  sight,  she  stood  before  him 
as  the  one  "perfect  woman,  nobly  planned,"  pre 
destined,  through  countless  ages,  to  be  his  mate. 
Colonel  Kent  merely  agreed  with  him  in  monosyllables 
until  Allison  became  conscious  that  his  father  did  not 
wholly  share  his  enthusiasm. 

"I  wish  you  knew  her,  Dad,"  he  said,  regretfully. 
"You'll  love  her  when  you  do." 

"I'm  willing  to,"  answered  the  Colonel,  shortly. 
"I  called  on  her  this  afternoon,"  he  added,  after  a 
brief  pause. 

Allison's  face  illumined.  "Was  she  there?  Did 
you  see  her?" 

"Yes/' 

"Isn't  she  the  loveliest  thing  that  was  ever  made?" 

"I'm  not  prepared  to  go  as  far  as  that,"  smiled  the 
Colonel,  "but  she  is  certainly  a  very  pretty  girl." 

158 


Ube  Ubirtietb  of  3une  159 

"She's  beautiful,"  returned  Allison,  with  deep 
conviction. 

The  Colonel  forebore  to  remind  him  that  love 
brings  beauty  with  it,  or  that  the  beauty  which 
endures  comes  from  the  soul  within. 

"Just  think,  Dad,"  Allison  was  saying,  "how 
lovely  she'll  be  at  that  end  of  the  table,  with  me  across 
from  her  and  you  at  her  right." 

The  Colonel  shook  his  head,  then  cleared  his  throat. 
"Not  always,  lad,"  he  said,  kindly,  "but  perhaps, 
sometimes — as  a  guest. " 

Allison's  fork  dropped  with  a  sharp  clatter  on  his 
plate.  "Dad!  What  do  you  mean?" 

"No  house  is  large  enough  for  two  families,"  re 
peated  the  Colonel,  with  an  unconscious,  parrot-like 
accent. 

"Why,  Dad!  We've  always  stood  together — surely 
you  won't  desert  me  now?" 

The  old  man's  eyes  softened  with  mist.  He  could 
not  trust  himself  to  meet  the  clear,  questioning  gaze 
of  his  son. 

"I  can't  understand,"  Allison  went  on,  doubtfully. 
"Is  it  possible — could  she — did — Isabel ?" 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel,  firmly,  still  avoiding  the 
questioning  eyes.  ' '  She  didn't !" 

"  Of  course  she  didn't, "  returned  Allison,  fully  satis 
fied.  "She  couldn't — she's  not  that  kind.  What  a 
brute  I  was  even  to  think  it!  But  why,  Dad?  Please 
tell  me  why!" 

"Francesca  asked  me  this  afternoon  if  I  would 
come  to  her  and  Rose,  after  the — afterwards,  you 
know,  and  I  promised." 

"If  you  promised,  I  suppose  that  settles  it,"  re 
marked  Allison,  gloomily,  "but  I  wish  you  hadn't.  I 


160  ©U>  iRose  an&  Silver 

can  understand  that  they  would  want  you,  too,  for 
of  course  they'll  be  desperately  lonely  after  Isabel 
goes  away." 

A  certain  peace  crept  into  the  old  man's  sore  heart. 
Surely  there  was  something  to  live  for  still. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  tell  Aunt  Francesca  you'd  stay 
there  always,"  Allison  was  saying,  anxiously. 

"No,"  answered  the  Colonel,  with  a  smile;  "there 
was  no  limit  specified." 

"Then  we'll  consider  it  only  a  visit  and  a  short  one 
at  that — just  until  they  get  a  little  used  to  Isabel's 
being  away.  This  is  your  rightful  place,  Dad,  and 
Isabel  and  I  both  want  you — don't  ever  forget  that!" 

When  Allison  had  gone  in  search  of  his  beloved,  the 
Colonel  sat  on  the  veranda  alone,  accustomed,  now, 
to  evenings  spent  thus.  His  garden  promised  well,  he 
thought,  having  produced  two  or  three  sickly  roses 
in  the  very  first  season.  The  shrubs  and  trees  that 
had  survived  ten  years  of  neglect  had  been  pruned 
and  tied  and  would  doubtless  do  well  next  year,  if 
Isabel 

"I  hope  he'll  never  find  out,"  the  Colonel  said  to 
himself.  Then  he  remembered  that,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  had  lied  to  his  son,  and  took  occa 
sion  to  observe  the  highly  spectacular  effect  of  an 
untruth  from  an  habitually  truthful  person. 

"He  never  doubted  me,  not  for  an  instant,"  mused 
the  Colonel,  "but  it's  just  as  well  that  I'm  going. 
She  could  probably  manage  it,  if  we  lived  in  the  same 
house,  so  that  I'd  have  to  tell  at  least  one  He  a  day, 
and  I'm  not  an  expert.  Perfection  might  come  with 
practice — I've  known  it  to — but  I'm  too  old  to 
begin." 

He  was  deeply  grateful  to  Francesca  for  her  solution 


TOe  Ubtrtfetb  of  3une  161 

of  the  problem  that  confronted  him.  It  had  appeared 
and  been  duly  solved  in  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 
She  had  been  his  good  angel  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  It  might  be  very  pleasant  to  live  there,  after 
he  became  accustomed  to  the  change,  and  with 
Allison  so  near — why,  he  couldn't  be  half  as  lonely  as 
he  was  now.  So  his  thoughts  drifted  into  a  happier 
channel  and  he  was  actually  humming  an  old  song  to 
himself  when  he  heard  Allison's  step,  almost  at  mid 
night,  on  the  road  just  beyond  the  gate. 

He  went  in  quietly,  closed  the  door,  and  was  in  his 
own  room  when  Allison's  latch-key  rattled  in  the 
lock.  The  Colonel  took  pains  not  to  be  heard  moving 
about,  but  it  was  unnecessary,  for  Allison's  heart  was 
beating  in  time  with  its  own  music,  and  surging  with 
the  nameless  rapture  that  comes  but  once. 

Down  in  the  moon-lit,  dream-haunted  garden,  Alli 
son  waited  for  Isabel,  as  the  First  Man  might  have 
waited  for  the  First  Woman,  in  another  garden, 
countless  ages  ago.  Stars  were  mirrored  in  the  lily- 
pool;  the  waning  moon  swung  low.  The  roses  had 
gone,  except  a  few  of  the  late-blooming  sort,  but  the 
memory  of  their  fragrance  lingered  still  in  the  velvet 
dusk. 

No  music  came  from  the  quiet  house,  for  Rose  had 
not  touched  the  piano  since  That  Night.  It  stood  out 
in  his  remembrance  in  capitals,  as  it  did  in  hers,  for 
widely  different  reasons.  Only  Isabel,  cherishing  no 
foolish  sentiment  as  to  dates  and  places,  could  have 
forgotten  That  Night. 

With  a  lover's  fond  fancy,  Allison  had  written  a 
note  to  Isabel,  asking  her  to  meet  him  in  the  garden 
by  the  lily-pool,  at  nine,  and  to  wear  the  silver- 


162  ©i&  iRose  an&  Silver 

spangled  gown.  It  was  already  past  the  hour  and  he 
had  begun  to  be  impatient,  though  he  was  sure  she 
had  received  the  note. 

A  cobweb  in  the  grass  at  his  feet  shone  faintly  afar 
— like  Isabel's  spangles,  he  thought.  A  soft-winged 
wayfarer  of  the  night  brushed  lightly  against  his 
cheek  in  passing,  and  he  laughed  aloud,  to  think  that 
a  grey  moth  should  bring  the  memory  of  a  kiss.  Then, 
with  a  swift  sinking  of  the  heart,  he  remembered 
Isabel's  unvarying  coldness.  Never  for  an  instant  had 
she  answered  him  as  Rose 

"Nonsense,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  angrily. 
"What  an  unspeakable  cad  I  am!" 

There  was  a  light  step  on  the  path  and  Isabel 
appeared  out  of  the  shadows.  She  was  holding  up  her 
skirts  and  seemed  annoyed.  In  the  first  glance  Allison 
noted  that  she  was  not  wearing  the  spangled  gown. 

She  submitted  to  his  eager  embrace  and  endured 
his  kiss;  even  the  blindest  lover  could  not  have  said 
more.  Yet  her  coldness  only  thrilled  him  to  the 
depths  with  love  of  her,  as  has  been  the  way  of  men 
since  the  world  began. 

"I  don't  understand  this  foolishness,"  she  said, 
fretfully,  as  she  released  herself  from  his  encircling 
arm.  "It's  damp  and  chilly  out  here,  and  I'll  get  wet 
and  take  cold." 

"It  isn't  damp,  darling,  and  you  can't  take  cold. 
Why  didn't  you  wear  the  spangles?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  spoil  my  best  gown 
dragging  it  through  the  wet  grass?" 

"The  grass  isn't  wet,  and,  anyhow,  you  haven't 
been  on  it — only  on  the  path.  Come  over  here  to  the 
bench  and  sit  down." 

"I  don't  want  to.    I  want  to  go  in." 


TOirtietb  of  $une  163 

"All  right,  but  not  just  yet.  I'll  carry  you,  if 
you're  afraid  of  dampness. "  Before  she  could  protest, 
he  had  picked  her  up  and  laughingly  seated  her  on  the 
bench  at  the  edge  of  the  lily-pool. 

Isabel  smoothed  her  rumpled  hair.  ' '  You've  mussed 
me  all  up,"  she  complained.  "Why  can't  we  go  in? 
Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  are  upstairs." 

"Listen,  sweetheart.  Please  be  patient  with  me 
just  a  minute,  won't  you?  I've  brought  you  your 
engagement  ring." 

"Oh,"  cried  Isabel,  delightedly.  "Let  me  see 
it!" 

"I  want  to  tell  you  about  it  first.  You  remember, 
don't  you,  that  the  first  night  I  came  here,  you  were 
wearing  a  big  silver  pin — a  turquoise  matrix,  set  in 
dull  silver?" 

"  I've  forgotten. " 

"Well,  I  haven't.  Someway,  it  seemed  to  suit  you 
as  jewels  seldom  suit  anybody,  and  you  had  it  on  the 
other  night  when  you  promised  to  marry  me.  Both 
times  you  were  wearing  the  spangled  gown,  and  that's 
why  I  asked  for  it  to-night,  and  why  I've  had  your 
engagement  ring  made  of  a  turquoise." 

Isabel  murmured  inarticulately,  but  he  went  on, 
heedlessly:  "It's  made  of  silver  because  you're  my 
Silver  Girl,  the  design  is  all  roses  because  it  was  in  the 
time  of  roses,  and  it's  a  turquoise  for  reasons  I've  told 
you.  Our  initials  and  the  date  are  inside." 

Allison  slipped  it  on  her  finger  and  struck  a  match 
that  she  might  see  it  plainly.  Isabel  turned  it  on  her 
finger  listlessly. 

"Very  pretty, "  she  said,  in  a  small,  thin  voice,  after 
,-an  awkward  pause. 

"Why,  dearest,"  he  cried,  "don't  you  like  it?" 


164  ©lt>  IRose  ant>  Silver 

"It's  well  enough,"  she  answered,  slowly,  "but  not 
for  an  engagement  ring.  Everybody  else  has  diamonds. 
I  thought  you  cared  enough  for  me  to  give  me  a 
diamond,"  she  said,  reproachfully. 

"I  do,"  he  assured  her,  "and  you  shall  have 
diamonds — as  many  as  I  can  give  you.  Why,  sweet, 
this  is  only  the  beginning.  There's  a  long  life  ahead 
of  us,  isn't  there?  Do  you  think  I'm  never  going  to 
give  my  wife  any  jewels?" 

"Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  put  you  up  to  this," 
said  Isabel,  bitterly.  "They  never  want  me  to  have 
anything." 

' '  They  know  nothing  whatever  about  it, "  he  replied, 
rather  coldly,  taking  it  from  her  finger  as  he  spoke. 
"Listen,  Isabel.  Would  you  rather  have  a  diamond 
in  your  engagement  ring?" 

"  Of  course.  I'd  be  ashamed  to  have  anybody  know 
that  this  was  my  engagement  ring. " 

"All  right,"  said  Allison,  with  defiant  cheerfulness. 
"You  shall  have  just  exactly  what  you  want,  and,  to 
make  sure,  I'll  take  you  with  me  when  I  go  to  get  it. 
I'm  sorry  I  made  such  a  mistake. " 

There  was  a  flash  of  blue  and  silver  in  the  faint 
light,  and  a  soft  splash  in  the  lily-pool.  "There,"  he 
went  on,  "it's  out  of  your  way  now." 

"You  didn't  need  to  throw  it  away,"  she  said, 
icily.  "I  didn't  say  I  didn't  want  it,  nor  that  I 
wouldn't  wear  it.  I  only  said  I  wanted  a  diamond." 

"It  could  be  found,  I  suppose, "  he  replied,  thought 
fully,  ashamed  of  his  momentary  impulse.  "If  the 
pool  were  drained " 

"That  would  cost  more  than  the  ring  is  worth," 
Isabel  interrupted.  "  Come,  let's  go  in. " 

He  was  about  to  explain  that  a  very  good-sized 


Ube  Ubfrtietb  of  3une  165 

pool  could  be  drained  for  the  price  of  the  ring,  but 
fortunately  thought  better  of  it,  and  was  bitterly  glad, 
now,  that  he  had  thrown  it  away. 

In  the  house  they  talked  of  other  things,  but  the 
thrust  still  lingered  in  his  consciousness,  unforgotten. 

"How's  your  father?"  inquired  Isabel,  in  a  con 
versational  pause,  as  she  could  think  of  nothing  else 
to  say. 

"All  right,  I  guess.    Why?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  lately.  He  hasn't  been  over 
since  the  day  he  called  on  me. " 

"Guess  I  haven't  thought  to  ask  him  to  come 
along.  Dad  is  possessed  just  at  present  by  a  very 
foolish  idea.  They've  told  you,  haven't  they?" 

"No.    Told  me  what?" 

"Why,  that  after  we're  married,  he's  to  come  over 
here  to  live  with  Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose,  and  give 
us  the  house  to  ourselves. " 

"I  hadn't  heard,"  she  replied,  indifferently. 

"I  don't  know  when  I've  felt  so  badly  about  any 
thing,"  Allison  resumed.  "We've  always  been  to 
gether  and  we've  been  more  like  two  chums  than 
father  and  son.  It's  like  taking  my  best  friend  away 
from  me,  but  I  know  he'll  come  back  to  us,  if  you  ask 
him  to. " 

"Probably,"  she  assented,  coldly.  "I  suppose 
we'll  be  in  town  for  the  Winters,  won't  we,  and  only 
live  here  in  the  Summer?" 

"I  don't  know,  dear;  we'll  see.  I've  got  to  go  to 
see  my  manager  very  soon,  and  Dad  asked  me  to  find 
out  what  you  wanted  for  a  wedding  present.  I'm 
to  help  him  select  it. " 

"Can  I  have  anything  I  choose?"  she  queried, 
keenly  interested  now. 


166  ©lfc  "Rose  ant)  Silver 

"Anything  within  reason,"  he  smiled.  "I'm  sorry 
we're  not  millionaires. " 

"Could  I  have  an  automobile?" 

"Perhaps.    What  kind?" 

"A  big  red  touring  car,  with  room  for  four  or  five 
people  in  it?" 

"I'll  tell  him.  It  would  be  rather  nice  to  have  one, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"Indeed  it  would,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands. 
"Oh,  Allison,  do  persuade  him  to  get  it,  won't  you?" 

"I  won't  have  to,  if  he  can.  I've  never  had  to 
persuade  my  father  into  anything  he  could  do  for  me. " 

When  he  went  home,  Isabel  kissed  him,  of  her  own 
accord,  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  cold  little  kiss, 
accompanied  with  a  whispered  plea  for  the  red  auto 
mobile,  but  it  set  his  heart  to  thumping  wildly,  and 
made  him  forget  the  disdained  turquoise,  that  lay  at 
the  bottom  of  the  lily-pool. 

Within  a  few  days,  Isabel  was  the  happy  possessor 
of  an  engagement  ring  with  a  diamond  in  it — a  larger, 
brighter  stone  than  she  had  ever  dreamed  of  having. 
Colonel  Kent  had  also  readily  promised  the  auto 
mobile,  though  he  did  not  tell  Allison  that  he  should 
be  obliged  to  sell  some  property  in  order  to  acquire  a 
really  fine  car.  It  took  until  the  end  of  the  month  to 
make  the  necessary  arrangements,  but  on  the  after 
noon  of  the  thirtieth,  a  trumpeting  red  monster, 
bright  with  brass,  drew  up  before  the  Kents'  door, 
having  come  out  from  town  on  its  own  power. 

As  the  two  men  had  taken  a  brief  tour  over  the 
wonderful  roads  of  France,  with  Allison  at  the  wheel, 
he  felt  no  hesitation  in  trying  an  unfamiliar  car. 
The  old  throb  of  exultation  came  back  when  the 


TTbe  Ubirttetb  of  -June  167 

monster  responded  to  his  touch  and  chugged  out  of 
the  driveway  on  its  lowest  speed. 

He  turned  back  to  wave  his  hand  at  his  father,  who 
stood  smiling  on  the  veranda,  with  the  chauffeur 
beside  him.  "I'll  get  Isabel,"  he  called,  "then  come 
back  for  you." 

He  reached  Madame  Bernard's  without  accident, 
and  Isabel,  almost  wild  with  joy,  ran  out  of  the  gate 
to  meet  him  and  climbed  in.  Only  Rose,  from  the 
shelter  of  her  curtains,  saw  them  as  they  went  away. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  Isabel  asked.  She  was  hat- 
less  and  the  sun  dwelt  lovingly  upon  her  shining  black 
hair. 

"Back  for  Dad.  He's  waiting  for  us.  Do  you  like 
it,  dear?" 

"Indeed  I  do.  Oh,  so  much!  It  was  lovely  of  him, 
wasn't  it?  He  wouldn't  care,  would  he,  if  we  took  a 
little  ride  just  by  ourselves  before  we  went  back  for 
him?" 

"Of  course  not,  but  we  can't  go  far  and  we'll  have 
to  go  fast." 

"  I  love  to  go  fast.  I've  never  been  fast  enough  yet. 
I  wonder  if  the  Crosbys  have  got  their  automobile?" 

"I  heard  so,  but  I  haven't  seen  it.  I  understand 
that  Romeo  is  learning  to  drive  it  in  the  narrow 
boundaries  of  the  yard. " 

"What  day  of  the  month  is  it?" 

"The  thirtieth.  There's  less  than  three  months  to 
wait  now,  darling — then  you'll  be  mine,  all  mine. " 

"Then  this  is  the  day  the  Crosbys  were  going  to 
celebrate — it's  the  anniversary  of  their  uncle's  death. 
I'm  glad  we've  got  our  automobile.  Can't  we  go  by 
there ?  It's  only  three  miles,  and  I'd  love  to  have  them 
see  us  go  by,  at  full  speed. " 


i68  ©l&  "Rose  an&  Stiver 

Obediently,  Allison  turned  into  the  winding  road 
which  led  to  Crosbys',  and,  to  please  Isabel,  drove  at 
the  third  speed.  Once  under  way,  the  road  spun 
dustily  backward  under  the  purring  car,  and  the  wind 
in  their  faces  felt  like  the  current  of  a  stream. 

"Oh,"  cried  Isabel,  rapturously;  "isn't  it  lovely!" 

"I'm  almost  afraid  to  go  so  fast,  dear.  If  there 
should  be  another  car  on  this  road,  we  might  collide 
at  some  of  these  sharp  turns. " 

"But  there  isn't.  There's  not  another  automobile 
in  this  sleepy  little  town,  except  the  Crosbys'.  It  isn't 
likely  that  they're  out  in  theirs  now,  on  this  road. " 

But,  as  it  happened,  they  were.  After  some  difficul 
ties  at  the  start,  Romeo  had  engineered  "The  Yellow 
Peril"  out  through  a  large  break  in  the  fence.  The 
twins  wore  their  brown  suits  with  tan  leather  trim 
mings,  and,  as  planned  long  ago,  the  back  seat  of  the 
machine  was  partially  filled  with  raw  meat  of  the  sort 
most  liked  by  Romeo's  canine  dependents. 

Two  yellow  flags  fluttered  from  the  back  of  the 
driver's  seat.  One  had  the  initials  "C.  T. "  in  black, 
on  the  other,  in  red,  was  "The  Yellow  Peril."  The 
name  of  the  machine  and  the  monogram  were  strik 
ingly  in  evidence  on  the  doors  and  at  the  back,  where 
a  choice  cut  of  roast  beef,  uncooked,  dangled  tempt 
ingly  by  a  strong  cord. 

Just  before  they  started,  Juliet  unfastened  the  barn 
door  and  freed  nineteen  starving  dogs,  all  in  collars 
suited  to  the  general  colour  scheme  of  the  automobile, 
and  bearing  the  initials,  "C.  T."  When  they  sniffed 
the  grateful  odour  borne  on  the  warm  June  wind,  they 
plunged  after  the  machine  with  howls  and  yelps  of 
delight.  Only  Minerva  remained  behind,  having  five 
new  puppies  to  care  for. 


Ube  Ubirtietb  of  3une  169 

"Oh,  Romie,  Romie!"  shouted  Juliet,  in  ecstasy. 
"They're  coming!  See!" 

Romeo  looked  back  for  the  fraction  of  an  instant, 
saw  that  they  were,  indeed,  "coming,"  and  then  dis 
covered  that  he  had  lost  control  of  the  machine. 
"Sit  tight,"  he  said,  to  Juliet,  between  clenched 
teeth. 

"I  am,"  she  screamed,  gleefully.  "Oh,  Romie,  if 
uncle  could  only  see  us  now!" 

"Uncle's  likely  to  see  us  very  soon,"  retorted 
Romeo  grimly,  "unless  I  can  keep  her  on  the  road." 

But  Juliet  was  absorbed  in  the  joy  of  the  moment 
and  did  not  hear.  A  cloud  of  dust,  through  which 
gleamed  brass  and  red,  appeared  on  the  road  ahead 
of  them,  having  rounded  the  curve  at  high  speed.  At 
the  same  instant,  Allison  saw  just  beyond  him,  the 
screaming  fantasy  of  colour  and  sound, 

' '  Jump ! "  he  cried  to  Isabel.    ' '  Jump  for  your  life ! " 

She  immediately  obeyed  him,  falling  in  a  little  white 
heap  at  the  roadside.  He  rose,  headed  the  machine 
toward  the  ditch  at  the  right  and  jumped  to  the  left, 
falling  face  down  in  the  road  with  his  hands  out 
stretched.  Before  he  could  stir,  the  other  machine 
roared  heavily  over  him,  grazing  his  left  hand  and 
crushing  it  into  the  deep  dust. 

There  was  almost  an  instant  of  unbelievable  agony, 
then,  mercifully,  darkness  and  oblivion. 


XV 
"t>ow  Sbe  TKHIU  Come  to  Oke" 

THE  darkness  swayed  but  did  not  lift.  There  was  a 
strange  rhythm  in  its  movement,  as  though  it  were  the 
sea,  but  there  was  no  sound.  Black  shadows  crept 
upon  him,  then  slowly  ebbed  away.  At  times  he  was 
part  of  the  darkness,  at  others,  separate  from  it,  yet 
lying  upon  it  and  wholly  sustained  by  it. 

At  intervals,  the  swaying  movement  changed.  His 
feet  sank  slowly  in  distinct  pulsations  until  he  stood 
almost  upright,  then  his  head  began  to  sink  and  his 
feet  to  rise.  When  his  head  was  far  down  and  his  feet 
almost  directly  above  him,  the  motion  changed  again 
and  he  came  back  gradually  to  the  horizontal,  sinking 
back  with  one  heart-beat  and  rising  with  the  next — 
always  a  little  higher. 

How  still  it  was !  The  silence  of  eternity  was  in  that 
all  compassing  dark,  which  reached  to  the  uttermost 
boundaries  of  space.  It  was  hollow  and  empty,  save 
for  him,  rising  and  falling,  rising  and  falling,  in  a  series 
of  regular  movements  corresponding  almost  exactly 
to  the  ticking  of  a  watch. 

A  faint,  sickening  odour  crept  through  the  darkness, 
followed  by  a  black  overwhelming  shadow  which 
threatened  to  engulf  him  in  its  depths.  Still  swaying, 
he  waited  for  it  calmly.  All  at  once  it  was  upon  him, 
but  swiftly  receded.  He  seemed  to  sway  backward 

170 


"Dow  Sbe  Wtll  Come  to  flDe'f      171 

out  of  it,  and  as  he  looked  back  upon  it,  gathering  its 
forces  for  another  attack,  he  saw  that  it  was  different 
from  the  darkness  upon  which  he  lay — that,  instead 
of  black,  it  was  a  deep  purple. 

The  odour  persisted  and  almost  nauseated  him.  It 
was  vaguely  familiar,  though  he  had  never  before 
come  into  intimate  contact  with  it.  Was  it  the  purple 
shadow,  that  ebbed  and  flowed  so  strangely  upon  his 
dark  horizon,  growing  to  a  brighter  purple  with  each 
movement? 

The  purple  grew  very  bright,  then  deepened  to 
blue — almost  black.  Dancing  tongues  of  flame  shot 
through  the  darkness,  as  he  swung  through  it,  up  and 
down,  like  a  ship  moved  by  a  heavy  ground-swell. 
The  flames  took  colour  and  increased  in  number. 
Violet,  orange,  blue,  green,  and  yellow  flickered  for  an 
instant,  then  disappeared. 

The  darkness  was  not  quite  so  heavy,  but  it  still 
swayed.  The  javelins  of  flame  shot  through  it  con 
tinually,  making  a  web  of  iridescence.  Then  the 
purple  shadow  approached  majestically  and  put  them 
out.  When  h  retreated,  they  came  again,  but  the 
colour  was  fainter. 

The  yellow  flames  darted  toward  him  from  every 
conceivable  direction,  stabbing  him  like  needles.  In 
this  light,  the  purple  shadow  changed  to  blue  and 
began  to  grow  brighter.  The  sickening  odour  was  so 
strong  now  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe.  The  blue 
shadow  warred  with  the  yellow  flames,  but  could  not 
put  them  out.  He  saw  now  that  the  shadow  was  his 
friend  and  the  flames  were  a  host  of  enemies. 

All  the  little  stabbing  lights  suddenly  merged  into 
one.  He  was  surrounded  by  fire  that  burned  him  as 
he  swayed  back  and  forth,  and  the  cool  shadows  were 


Ktose  an&  Silver 


gone.  The  light  grew  intense  and  terrible,  but  he 
could  not  lift  his  hand  to  shade  his  eyes.  Slowly  the 
orange  deepened  to  scarlet  in  which  he  spun  around 
giddily  among  myriads  of  blood-red  disks.  The 
scarlet  grew  brighter  and  brighter  until  it  became  a 
white,  streaming  light.  All  at  once  the  swaying 
stopped. 

The  intensity  of  the  white  light  was  agreeably 
tempered  by  a  grey  mist.  Through  the  vapour,  he 
saw  the  outlines  of  his  own  chiffonier,  across  the  room. 
A  woman  in  spotless  white  moved  noiselessly  about. 
Even  though  she  did  not  look  at  him,  he  felt  a  certain 
friendliness  toward  her.  She  seemed  to  have  been 
with  him  while  he  swayed  through  the  shadow  and 
it  was  pleasant  to  know  that  he  had  not  been  alone. 

On  the  table  near  the  window,  his  violin  lay  as  he 
had  left  it.  The  case  was  standing  in  a  corner  and  his 
music  stand  had  toppled  over.  The  torn  sheets  of 
music  rustled  idly  on  the  floor,  and  he  wondered,  fret 
fully,  why  the  woman  in  white  did  not  pick  them  up. 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  thought,  she  stooped,  and 
gathered  them  together,  quietly  sorting  the  pages 
and  putting  them  into  the  open  drawer  that  held  his 
music.  She  closed  the  drawer  and  folded  up  his 
music  stand  without  making  a  sound.  She  seemed  far 
removed  from  him,  like  someone  from  another  world. 

Cloud  surrounded  her,  but  he  caught  glimpses  of 
her  through  it  occasionally.  She  took  up  his  violin, 
very  carefully,  put  it  into  its  case,  and  carried  it  out 
of  the  room.  He  did  not  care  very  much,  but  it 
seemed  rather  an  impolite  thing  to  do.  He  knew  that 
he  would  not  have  stolen  a  violin  when  the  owner  was 
in  the  same  room. 

Soon  she  came  back  and  he  was  reassured.     She 


"1>ow  Sbe  Will  Come  to  flDe"       173 

had  not  stolen  it  after  all.  She  might  have  broken  it, 
for  she  seemed  to  feel  very  sorry  about  something. 
She  was  wiping  her  eyes  with  a  bit  of  white,  as  women 
always  did  when  they  cried. 

It  was  not  necessary  for  her  to  cry,  on  account  of 
one  broken  violin,  for  he  had  thousands  of  them — 
Stradivarius,  Amati,  Cremona;  everything.  Some 
of  them  were  highly  coloured  and  very  rare  on  that 
account.  He  had  only  to  go  to  his  storehouse,  present 
a  ticket,  and  choose  whatever  he  liked — red,  green, 
yellow,  or  even  striped. 

Everybody  who  played  the  violin  needed  a  great 
many  of  them,  for  the  different  moods  of  music.  It 
was  obvious  that  the  dark  brown  violin  with  which 
he  played  slow,  sad  music  could  not  be  used  for  the 
Hungarian  Dances.  He  had  a  special  violin  for  those, 
striped  with  barbaric  colour. 

The  woman  who  had  broken  one  of  his  violins  stood 
at  the  window  with  her  back  toward  him.  Her  shoul 
ders  shook  and  from  time  to  time  she  lifted  the  bit  of 
white  to  her  eyes.  It  was  annoying,  he  thought;  even 
worse  than  the  shadows  and  the  fire.  He  was  about 
to  call  to  her  and  suggest,  ironically,  that  she  had 
cried  enough  and  that  the  flowers  would  be  spoiled 
if  they  got  too  wet,  when  someone  called,  from  the 
next  room:  "Miss  Rose!" 

She  turned  quickly,  wiped  her  eyes  once  more,  and, 
without  making  a  sound,  went  out  on  the  white  cloud 
that  surrounded  her  half  way  to  her  waist. 

He  tried  to  change  his  position  a  little  and  felt  his 
own  bed  under  him.  His  body  was  stiff  and  sore,  but 
he  had  the  use  of  it,  except  his  left  arm.  Try  as  he 
might,  he  could  not  move  it,  for  it  was  weighted  down 
and  it  hurt  terribly. 


174  ©R>  TCose  anfc  Silver 

"Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose." 
The  words  beat  hard  in  his  ears  like  a  clock  ticking 
loudly.  The  accent  was  on  the  "Miss" — the  last 
word  was  much  fainter.  "Rose  Miss"  was  wrong,  so 
the  other  must  be  right,  except  for  the  misplaced 
accent.  Did  the  accent  always  come  on  the  first  beat 
of  a  measure?  He  had  forgotten,  but  he  would  ask 
the  man  at  the  storehouse  when  he  went  to  get  the 
striped  violin  for  the  Hungarian  Dances. 

His  left  hand  throbbed  with  unbearable  agony. 
The  room  began  to  spin  slowly  on  its  axis.  There  was 
no  mist  now,  or  even  a  shadow,  and  every  sense  was 
abnormally  acute.  The  objects  in  the  whirling  room 
were  phenomenally  clear;  even  a  scratch  on  the  front 
of  his  chiffonier  stood  out  distinctly. 

He  could  hear  a  clock  ticking,  though  there  was  no 
clock  in  his  room.  Afar  was  the  sound  of  women 
sobbing — two  of  them.  Above  it  a  strange  voice  said, 
distinctly:  "There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of 
saving  his  hand.  If  I  had  nurses,  I  would  amputate 
now,  before  he  recovers  consciousness." 

The  words  struck  him  with  the  force  of  a  blow, 
though  he  did  not  fully  realise  what  they  meant. 
The  pain  in  his  left  arm  and  the  sickening  odour 
nauseated  him.  The  cool  black  shadow  drowned  the 
objects  in  the  room  and  crept  upon  him  stealthily. 
Presently  he  was  swaying  again,  up  and  down,  up  and 
down,  in  the  all-encompassing,  all-hiding  dark. 

So  it  happened  that  he  did  not  hear  Colonel  Kent's 
ringing  answer:  "You  shall  not  amputate  until  every 
great  surgeon  in  the  United  States  has  said  that  it  is 
absolutely  necessary.  I  leave  on  the  next  train,  and 
shall  send  them  and  keep  on  sending  until  there  are  no 
more  to  send.  Until  a  man  comes  who  thinks  there 


"f>ow  Sbe  TOUll  Come  to  flDe"       175 

is  a  chance  of  saving  it,  you  are  in  charge — after  that, 
it  is  his  case." 

Day  by  day,  a  continuous  procession  came  to  the 
big  Colonial  house.  Allison  became  accustomed  to 
the  weary  round  of  darkness,  pain,  sickening  odours, 
strange  faces,  darkness,  and  so  on,  endlessly,  without 
pity  or  pause. 

The  woman  in  white  had  mysteriously  vanished. 
In  her  place  were  two,  in  blue  and  white,  with  queer, 
unbecoming  caps.  They  were  there  one  at  a  time, 
always ;  never  for  more  than  a  few  minutes  were  they 
together.  When  the  fierce,  hot  agony  became  unen 
durable  for  even  a  moment  longer,  one  of  them  would 
lean  over  him  with  a  bit  of  shining  silver  in  her  hand, 
and  stab  him  sharply  for  an  instant.  Then,  with 
incredible  quickness,  came  peace. 

Once,  when  two  strange  men  had  come  together, 
and  had  gone  into  the  adjoining  room,  he  caught  dis 
connected  fragments  of  conversation.  "  Hypersensi 
tive — impossible — not  much  longer — interesting  case. " 
He  wondered,  as  he  began  to  sway  in  the  darkness 
again,  what  "hypersensitive"  meant.  Surely,  he  used 
to  know. 

Still,  it  did  not  matter — nothing  mattered  now. 
In  the  brief  intervals  of  consciousness,  he  began  to 
wonder  what  he  had  been  doing  just  before  this 
happened,  whatever  it  was.  It  took  him  days  to  piece 
out  the  disconnected  memories  past  the  whirling  room, 
the  woman  in  white,  and  the  creeping  shadows,  to  the 
red  touring  car  and  Isabel. 

His  heart  throbbed  painfully,  held  though  it  was  by 
some  iron  hand,  icy  cold,  in  a  pitiless  clutch.  Weakly, 
he  summoned  the  blue  and  white  woman  who  sat  in  a 
low  chair  across  his  room.  She  came  quickly,  and  put 


176  ©K>  IRose  ant)  Stiver 

her  ear  very  close  to  his  lips  that  she  might  hear  what 
he  said. 

"Was— she— hurt?" 

"  No, "  said  the  blue  and  white  woman,  very  kindly. 
"Only  slightly  bruised." 

The  next  day  he  summoned  her  again.  As  before, 
she  bent  very  low  to  catch  the  gasping  words:  "Where 
is — my — father  ? ' ' 

"He  had  to  go  to  town  on  business.  He  will  come 
back  just  as  soon  as  he  can." 

"He — is — dead,"  said  Allison,  with  difficulty. 
"Nothing  else — could  take — him — away — now." 

"No,"  she  assured  him,  "you  must  believe  me. 
He's  all  right.  Everybody  else  is  all  right  and  we 
hope  you  soon  wrill  be. " 

"No  use — talking  of — it,"  he  breathed,  hoarsely. 
"I  know." 

Singly,  by  twos  and  even  threes,  the  strange  men 
continued  to  come  from  the  City.  Allison  submitted 
wearily  to  the  painful  examinations  that  seemed  so 
unnecessary.  Some  of  the  men  seemed  kind,  even 
sympathetic.  Others  were  cold  and  impassive,  like 
so  many  machines.  Still  others,  and  these  were  in  the 
majority,  were  almost  brutal. 

It  was  one  of  the  latter  sort  who  one  day  drew  a 
chair  up  to  the  side  of  the  bed  with  a  scraping  noise 
that  made  the  recumbent  figure  quiver  from  head  to 
foot.  The  man's  face  was  almost  colourless,  his  bulg 
ing  blue  eyes  were  cold  and  fish-like,  distorted  even 
more  by  the  strong  lenses  of  his  spectacles. 

"Better  have  it  over  with,"  he  suggested.  "I  can 
do  it  now." 

"Do  what?"  asked  Allison,  with  difficulty. 

"Amputate  your  hand.    There's  no  chance." 


"Dow  Sbe  Mill  Come  to  flDe"       177 

The  blue  and  white  young  woman  then  on  duty 
came  forward.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor,  but 
Colonel  Kent  left  strict  orders  not  to  operate  without 
his  consent." 

The  strange  man  disdained  to  answer  the  nurse, 
but  turned  to  Allison  again.  "Do  you  know  where 
your  father  can  be  reached  by  wire?" 

" My  father — is  dead,"  Allison  insisted.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  would  answer  no  more  questions.  In  the 
next  room,  he  heard  the  nurse  and  the  doctor  talking 
in  low  tones  that  did  not  carry.  Only  one  word  rose 
above  the  murmur:  "  Delusion. " 

Allison  repeated  it  to  himself  as  he  sank  into  the 
darkness  again,  wondering  what  it  meant  and  of  whom 
they  were  speaking. 

Slowly  he  recovered  from  the  profound  shock,  but 
his  hand  did  not  improve.  He  had  an  idea  that  the 
ceaseless  bandaging  and  unbandaging  were  dangerous 
as  well  as  painful,  but  said  nothing.  He  knew  that  his 
career,  had  come  to  its  end  before  it  had  really  begun, 
but  it  did  not  seem  to  affect  him  in  any  way.  He 
considered  it  unemotionally  and  impersonally,  when 
he  thought  of  it  at  all. 

Two  more  men  came  together.  One  was  brutal, 
the  other  merely  cold.  They  shook  their  heads  and 
went  away.  A  few  days  later,  a  man  of  the  rare  sort 
came;  a  gentle,  kindly,  sympathetic  soul,  who  seemed 
human  and  real. 

After  the  examination  was  finished,  Allison  asked, 
briefly:  "Any  chance?" 

The  kindly  man  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then  told 
the  truth.  "  I'm  afraid  not. " 

The  nurse  happened  to  be  out  of  the  room,  none  the 
less,  Allison  motioned  to  him  to  come  closer.  Almost 


178  ©U>  IRose  an&  Silver 

in  a  whisper  he  said:  " Can  you  give  me  anything  that 
will  make  me  strong  enough  to  write  half  a  dozen 
lines?" 

"Could  no  one  else  write  it  for  you?" 

"No  one." 

"Couldn't  I  take  the  message?" 

"Could  anyone  take  a  message  for  me  to  the  girl 
I  was  going  to  marry — now?" 

"I  understand,"  said  the  other,  gently.  "We'll 
see.  You  must  make  it  very  brief. " 

When  the  nurse  came  back,  they  gave  him  a  pencil, 
propped  a  book  up  before  him,  and  fastened  a  sheet 
of  paper  to  it  by  a  rubber  band.  After  the  powerful 
stimulant  the  doctor  administered  had  begun  to  take 
effect,  Allison  managed  to  write,  in  a  very  shaky, 
almost  illegible  hand: 

"My  DEAREST: 

"My  left  hand  will  have  to  come  off.  As  I  can't 
ask  you  to  marry  a  cripple,  the  only  honourable  thing 
for  me  to  do  is  to  release  you  from  our  engagement. 
Don't  think  I  blame  you.  Good-bye,  darling,  and 
may  God  bless  you. 

"A.  K." 

The  effort  exhausted  him  greatly,  but  the  thing  was 
done.  The  nurse  folded  it,  put  it  into  an  envelope, 
sealed  it,  and  took  the  pencil  from  him. 

"You'll  let  me  address  it,  won't  you?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  Miss  Isabel  Ross.  Anyone  in  the  house  can 
tell  you  where — anyone  will  take  it  to  her.  Thank 
you, "  he  added,  speaking  to  the  doctor. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time,  the  situation  began  to 
affect  him  personally.  In  the  hours  after  midnight,  as 


"Dow  Sbe  'Mill  Come  to  /Be"      179 

the  forces  of  the  physical  body  ebbed  toward  the 
lowest  point,  those  of  the  mind  seemed  to  increase. 
Staring  at  the  low  night-light,  that  by  its  feeble  flicker 
exorcised  the  thousand  phantoms  that  beset  him,  he 
could  think  clearly.  In  a  rocking-chair,  across  the 
room,  the  night  nurse  dozed,  with  a  white  shawl 
wrapped  around  her.  He  could  hear  her  deep,  regular 
breathing  as  she  slept. 

His  father  was  dead — he  knew  that  for  an  absolute 
fact,  and  wondered  why  the  two  kind  women  and  the 
endless,  varying  procession  of  men  should  so  per 
sistently  lie  to  him  about  this  when  they  were  willing 
to  tell  him  the  truth  about  everything  else. 

Pie  also  knew  that,  sooner  or  later,  his  left  hand 
would  be  amputated  and  that  his  career  would  come 
to  an  inglorious  end — indeed,  the  end  had  already 
come.  The  ordeal  painfully  shadowed  upon  his  hori 
zon  was  only  the  final  seal.  Fortunately  there  was 
money  enough  for  everything — he  would  want  piti 
fully  little  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

His  life  stretched  out  before  him  in  a  waste  of 
empty  years.  He  was  thirty,  now,  and  his  father  had 
lived  until  well  past  seventy ;  might  have  lived  many 
years  more  had  he  not  died  when  his  heart  broke  over 
the  misfortunes  of  his  idolised  son.  He  could  re 
member  the  rumble  of  the  carriage  wheels  the  night  of 
the  funeral.  The  nurse  had  dozed  in  her  chair  just 
as  she  was  dozing  now,  while  downstairs  they  carried 
his  father  out  of  the  house  in  a  black  casket  and  buried 
him.  It  was  all  as  clear  as  though  it  had  happened 
yesterday,  instead  of  ages  ago. 

A  clock,  somewhere  near  by,  chimed  three  quick, 
silvery  strokes.  With  the  last  stroke,  the  clock  in  the 
kitchen  struck  three,  also,  in  a  different  tone  and  with 


i  so  ©U>  iRose  ant>  Silver 

an  annoying  briskness  of  manner.  As  the  echo  died 
away,  the  old  grandfather's  clock  on  the  landing 
boomed  out  three  portentously  solemn  chimes.  It  was 
followed  almost  immediately  by  a  cheery,  impertinent 
little  clock,  insisting  that  it  was  four  and  almost  time 
for  sunrise. 

The  nurse  stirred  in  her  chair,  yawned,  and  came 
over  to  the  bed.  She  straightened  the  blankets  with  a 
practised  hand,  changed  his  hot  pillow  for  a  fresh  one, 
brought  him  a  drink  of  cool  water,  and  went  back  to 
her  chair  without  having  said  a  word.  The  gentle 
ministry  comforted  him  insensibly.  What  magic  there 
was  in  the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand!  But,  in  the 
long  grey  years  ahead,  there  would  be  no  woman 
unless — Isabel 

Sometime  that  afternoon,  or  early  in  the  evening, 
she  had  received  his  note.  It  was  not  strange  that 
they  had  not  allowed  her  to  come  to  see  him,  because 
no  one  had  seen  him  but  the  doctors  and  nurses. 
Even  Aunt  Francesca,  whom  he  had  known  all  his 
life,  had  not  darkened  his  open  door. 

But  now,  Isabel  would  come — she  could  not  help 
but  come.  With  the  passing  of  the  fateful  hour, 
strength  began  to  return  slowly.  She  would  come 
to-morrow,  and  every  tick  of  the  clock  brought 
to-morrow  a  second  nearer. 

A  steadily  increasing  warmth  came  into  his  veins 
and  thawed  the  ice  around  his  heart.  The  cold 
hand  that  had  held  it  so  long  mercifully  loosened 
its  fingers.  He  turned  his  face  toward  the  East 
ern  window,  that  he  might  watch  for  the  first  faint 
glow. 

A  single  long,  deepening  shadow  struck  across  the 
far  horizon  like  the  turning  out  of  a  light.  Almost 


immediately,  the  distant  East  brightened.    Day  was 
coming — the  sun,  and  Isabel. 

With  the  first  hint  of  colour,  hope  dawned  in  his 
soul,  changing  to  certainty  as  the  light  increased.  It 
was  not  in  the  way  of  things  that  he,  who  had  always 
had  everything,  should  at  one  fell  stroke  be  left  deso 
late.  Out  of  the  wreckage  there  was  one  thing  he 
might  keep — Isabel. 

He  laughed  at  the  thought  that  she  would  accept 
her  release.  What  would  he  have  done  he  asked 
himself,  were  it  she  instead  of  him?  Could  mutilation, 
or  even  death,  change  his  love  for  her?  He  was  equally 
sure  that  hers  could  not  be  changed. 

It  was  fortunate  that  she  was  saved — that  it  was  he 
instead  of  Isabel.  She  had  pretty  hands — such  dear 
hands  as  men  have  loved  and  kissed  since,  back  in  the 
garden,  the  First  Woman  gave  hers  to  the  First  Man, 
that  he  might  lead  her  wheresoever  he  would. 

In  the  midst  of  the  wreckage,  he  perceived  a  divine 
compensation,  for  Isabel  would  not  fail  him — she 
could  not  fail  him  now.  Transfigured  by  tenderness, 
her  coldness  changed  to  the  utmost  yielding,  to 
morrow  would  bring  him  his  goddess,  a  deeply-loving 
woman  at  last. 

"How  she  will  come  to  me,"  he  said  to  himself, 
feeling,  in  fancy,  her  soft  arms  around  him,  and  her 
warm  lips  on  his,  while  the  life-current  flowed  steadily 
from  her  to  him  and  made  him  a  man  again,  not  a 
weakling.  His  heart  beat  with  a  joy  that  was  almost 
pain,  for  he  could  feel  her  intoxicating  nearness  even 
now.  Perhaps  her  sweet  eyes  would  overflow  with 
the  greatness  of  her  love  and  her  tears  would  fall  upon 
his  face  when  she  knelt  beside  him,  to  lay  her  head 
upon  his  breast. 


1 82  ©R>  IRose  ant>  Stiver 

"  How  she  will  come  to  me ! "  he  breathed,  in  ecstasy . 
"Ah,  how  she  will  come!" 

And  so,  smiling,  he  slept,  as  the  first  shaft  of  sun 
that  brought  his  dear  To-Morrow  fell  full  upon  his 
face. 


XVI 
f)ow  Isabel  Came 

MADAME  BERNARD  and  Rose  were  so  deeply  affected 
by  Allison's  misfortune  that  they  scarcely  took  note 
of  Isabel's  few  bruises,  greatly  to  that  young  woman's 
disgust.  She  chose  to  consider  herself  in  the  light  of  a 
martyr  and  had  calmly  received  the  announcement 
that  Allison's  left  hand  would  probably  have  to  be 
amputated. 

None  of  them  had  seen  him,  though  the  two  older 
women  were  ready  to  go  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or 
night  they  might  be  needed  or  asked  for.  Isabel 
affected  a  sprained  ankle  and  limped  badly  when  any 
one  was  looking.  Once  or  twice  she  had  been  seen  to 
walk  almost  as  usual,  though  she  did  not  know  it. 

The  upper  hall,  and,  occasionally,  the  other  parts 
of  the  house,  smelled  of  the  various  liniments  and 
lotions  with  which  she  anointed  herself.  She  scorned 
the  suggestion  that  she  should  stay  in  bed,  for  she  was 
quite  comfortable  upon  a  couch,  in  her  most  becoming 
negligee,  with  a  novel  and  a  box  of  chocolates  to  bear 
her  company. 

At  first,  she  had  taken  her  meals  in  her  own  room, 
but,  finding  that  it  was  more  pleasant  to  be  down 
stairs  with  the  others  for  luncheon  and  dinner, 
managed  to  go  up  and  down  the  long  flight  of  stairs 
twice  each  day. 

183 


184  ©I&  "Rose  ant)  Silver 

Placid  as  she  was,  the  table  was  not  a  cheerful 
place,  for  the  faces  of  the  other  two  were  haggard  and 
drawn,  and  neither  made  more  than  a  pretence  of 
eating.  Daily  bulletins  came  from  the  other  house  as 
to  Allison's  condition,  and  Madame  was  in  constant 
communication  by  telegraph  with  Colonel  Kent.  She 
kept  him  reassured  as  much  as  possible,  and  did  not 
tell  him  of  Allison's  ineradicable  delusion  that  his 
father  was  dead. 

Allison's  note  was  given  to  Isabel  at  luncheon  the 
day  after  it  was  written,  having  been  delayed  in 
delivery  the  night  before  until  after  she  was  asleep. 
With  it  was  a  letter  from  her  mother,  which  had  come 
in  the  noon  mail. 

She  opened  Allison's  note  first,  read  it,  and  put  it 
back  into  the  envelope.  Her  mother's  letter  was 
almost  equally  brief.  That,  too,  she  returned  to  its 
envelope  without  comment. 

"How  is  your  mother,  Isabel?"  inquired  Madame, 
having  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  bold,  dashing  super 
scription  which  was  familiar,  though  infrequent. 

"She's  all  right,"  Isabel  answered,  breaking  open 
a  hot  muffin.  "It's  funny  that  it  should  come  at  the 
same  time  as  the  other. " 

"Why?"  asked  Rose,  merely  for  the  sake  of  making 
conversation. 

"Because  just  as  Mamma  writes  to  tell  me  that 
marriage  is  slavery,  but  that  if  he  can  take  care  of 
me  and  Aunt  Francesca  approves  of  him,  it  will  be 
all  right,  Allison  writes  and  releases  me  from  the 
engagement." 

"Poor  boy!"  sighed  Madame. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  should  say  'poor  boy,' 
Isabel  observed,  rather  fretfully.    "He's  not  very  ill 


l)ow  Isabel  Came  185 

a.  he  can  write  letters.  I'm  sure  I  don't  feel  like 
writing  any. " 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  said  Madame,  half  to 
herself. 

"And  as  for  his  releasing  me,"  Isabel  went  on, 
coolly,  "I'm  glad  he  was  decent  enough  to  do  it  and 
save  me  the  trouble  of  releasing  myself. " 

Rose  got  to  her  feet  somehow,  her  face  deathly 
white.  "Do  you  mean,"  she  cried,  "that  you  would 
think  for  a  minute  of  accepting  release?" 

"Why,  certainly, "  the  girl  replied,  in  astonishment. 
"Why  not?  He  says  himself  that  he  can't  ask  me  to 
marry  a  cripple." 

Rose  winced  visibly.  "Isabel!"  she  breathed. 
"Oh,  Isabel!" 

"My  dear,"  said  Madame,  with  such  kindness  as 
she  could  muster,  "have  you  forgotten  that  he  saved 
you  from  death,  or  worse?" 

"He  didn't  do  anything  for  me  but  to  tell  me  to 
jump.  I  did  more  for  him  than  that.  Nobody 
seems  to  think  it  was  anything  for  me  to  get  up 
out  of  the  dust,  with  my  best  white  dress  all  ruined 
and  my  face  scratched  and  my  ankle  sprained  and 
one  arm  bleeding,  and  help  the  Crosbys  carry  a 
heavy  man  to  their  machine  and  lay  him  on  the  back 
seat. " 

"I  thought  the  Crosbys  carried  him,"  put  in 
Madame.  "They're  strong  enough  to  do  it,  I  should 
think." 

"Well,  I  helped.  I  had  to  take  all  that  nasty  raw 
meat  out  of  the  back  seat  and  throw  it  out  in  the  ditch 
to  the  dogs,  and  stand  up  all  the  way  home,  bruised 
as  I  was,  to  keep  him  from  falling  off  the  seat.  We 
were  in  a  perfect  bedlam  there  for  a  while,  but  it 


186  ©io  •Rose  anfc  stiver 

doesn't  seem  to  make  any  difference  to  anybody. 
Nobody  cares  what  happens  to  me. " 

"Besides,"  she  went  on,  with  her  voice  raised  to  a 
high  pitch  by  excitement,  "I  don't  see  why  I  should 
be  expected  to  marry  a  man  with  only  one  hand.  He 
can't  play  any  more,  and  if  he  can't  play,  how  can  he 
make  any  money  to  take  care  of  me,  even  if  I  should 
tie  myself  to  him  for  life?  Do  you  expect  me  to  take 
in  washing  and  take  care  of  him?" 

"Isabel,"  said  Madame,  coldly,  "please  stop  talk 
ing  so  loudly  and  please  listen  for  a  moment.  Nobody 
expects  you  to  marry  a  man  whom,  for  any  reason  on 
earth,  you  do  not  love  well  enough  to  marry.  Kindly 
consider  that  as  something  to  be  settled  in  accordance 
with  your  own  wishes  and  desires. " 

"Certainly,"  interrupted  the  girl.  "I'd  like  to  see 
anybody  force  me  to  marry  him!" 

Madame  compressed  her  lips  into  a  thin,  tight  line, 
and  her  face  became  stern,  even  hard.  She  clenched 
her  small  hands  tightly  and  her  breath  came  quickly. 
A  red  spot  burned  on  either  cheek. 

Never  having  seen  Madame  angry  before,  Rose  was 
almost  frightened.  She  herself  was  not  angry,  but 
hurt — for  him.  At  the  moment  she  heard  of  the 
accident,  her  love  for  him  had  transcended  the  bounds 
of  self  and  merged  into  prayer  for  him  and  for  his  good, 
whatever  that  might  prove  to  be. 

"Isabel,"  said  Rose,  very  softly,  "will  you  do  one 
thing  for  me?" 

"What?"  Isabel  demanded,  suspiciously. 

"Listen,  dear.  For  me,  if  not  for  him,  will  you  go 
to  him,  and — well,  simply  be  kind?  Don't  let  him 
think  that  this  terrible  thing  has  separated  him  from 
you  or  changed  your  love.  Wait  until  he  is  strong 


1)ow  Isabel  Came  187 

and  well  again  before  you  tell  him.  "Will  you, 
please?" 

Isabel's  flushed  face  took  on  the  expression  of  out 
raged  virtue.  ' '  I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  expected 
to  lie, "  she  remarked  evasively,  *ith  a  subtle  change 
of  manner. 

Madame  Bernard  cleared  her  throat.  "Your  love 
was  a  lie, "  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  neither  of  them 
had  ever  heard  her  use  before.  "One  more  won't 
matter. " 

Isabel  fidgeted  in  her  chair  and  nervously  tapped 
the  edge  of  her  plate  with  her  fork.  "  I  haven't  heard 
anybody  say, "  she  began,  with  the  air  of  one  scoring 
a  fine  point,  "that  his  father  doesn't  love  him,  and  yet 
he  hasn't  gone  near  him — hasn't  even  seen  him  since 
we  were  hurt.  If  Colonel  Kent  can  stay  away  from 
him,  I  don't  know  why  I  can't. " 

The  argument  seemed  unanswerable,  for  neither 
Madame  nor  Rose  spoke.  They  sat  with  averted 
eyes,  until  the  silence  became  oppressive,  and  Isabel, 
with  ostentatious  difficulty,  pushed  back  her  chair 
and  limped  painfully  out  of  the  room. 

When  she  had  locked  her  own  door,  she  was  more  at 
ease,  and  began  to  survey  her  unpleasant  situation. 
Nobody  seemed  to  consider  her  at  all — it  was  only 
Allison,  and  everything  and  everybody,  apparently, 
must  be  sacrificed  for  him.  Just  because  she  had 
promised  to  marry  him,  when  he  had  both  hands,  they 
wanted  her  to  go  on  with  it,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
saw  it  was  impossible. 

Isabel  sighed  heavily.  Nobody  knew  how  keenly 
disappointed  she  was.  She  had  written  to  her  few 
friends,  told  them  about  her  engagement  ring,  the 
plans  made  for  her  trousseau,  the  promised  touring 


1 88  ©ifc  TRose  anfc  Stiver 

car,  and  the  brilliant  social  career  that  lay  before  her 
as  the  wife  of  a  famous  violinist. 

She  pictured  a  triumphal  tour  from  city  to  city, 
with  the  leaders  of  fashion  everywhere  vying  with 
each  other  in  entertaining  them — or,  at  least,  her. 
It  would,  of  course,  be  necessary  for  Allison  to  play 
occasionally  in  the  evening  and  they  would  miss  a 
great  deal  on  that  account,  but  her  days  would  be  free, 
and  she  could  cancel  all  her  own  social  obligations  by 
complimentary  tickets  and  suppers  after  the  concerts. 

She  had  planned  it  all  as  she  took  lazy  stitches  in 
her  dainty  lingerie.  Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  had 
been  helping  her,  but  the  whole  thing  had  stopped 
suddenly.  It  seemed  rather  selfish  of  them  not  to  go 
on  with  it,  for  lingerie  was  always  useful,  and  even 
though  she  should  not  marry  Allison,  it  was  not  at  all 
improbable  that  she  would  marry  someone  else. 

If  she  could  find  anybody  who  had  plenty  of 
money  and  would  be  good  to  her,  she  knew  that  she 
would  encounter  no  parental  opposition,  in  spite  of 
Mrs.  Ross's  pronounced  views  upon  the  slavery  of 
matrimony. 

Allison  had  been  very  decent  in  releasing  her  from 
her  awkward  predicament.  He  had  even  arranged  it 
so  that  no  answer  was  necessary  and  she  need  not  even 
see  him  again.  She  had  the  natural  shrinking  of  the 
healthy  young  animal  from  its  own  stricken  kind.  It 
would  be  much  nicer  not  to  see  him  again. 

But,  if  he  could  write  letters  now,  it  would  not  be 
long  before  he  would  be  able  to  come  over,  though  his 
hand  had  not  yet  been  taken  off.  It  was  too  bad,  for 
everything  had  been  very  pleasant  until  the  accident. 
She  had  missed  Allison's  daily  visits  and  had  probably 
lost  the  touring  car,  though  as  she  had  taken  pains  to 


1bow  flsabel  Came  189 

find  out,  it  had  fallen  into  the  ditch  and  had  been 
injured  very  little. 

Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose  had  been  queer  ever 
since  it  happened.  After  Colonel  Kent  and  the  ser 
vants  and  the  twins  had  lifted  Allison  out  of  "The 
Yellow  Peril"  and  carried  him  up  to  his  own  room  on 
an  improvised  stretcher,  while  someone  else  was 
telephoning  for  every  doctor  in  the  neighbourhood,  the 
twins  had  taken  her  home.  She  had  insisted  upon 
their  helping  her  up  the  steps,  and  as  soon  as  Aunt 
Francesca  and  Rose  heard  the  news,  they  had  paid 
no  attention  to  her  at  all,  but,  with  one  voice,  had 
demanded  that  the  twins  should  take  them  to  Kent's 
immediately. 

They  had  gone  without  even  stopping  for  their  hats, 
and  left  her  wholly  to  the  servants.  Even  when  they 
had  come  home,  late  at  night,  in  their  own  carriage, 
it  was  over  half  an  hour  before  Aunt  Francesca  came 
to  her  room,  so  overburdened  with  selfish  grief  that 
she  did  not  even  listen  to  the  recital  of  Isabel's 
numerous  bruises. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  go  away,  though  the 
city  was  terrible  in  Summer,  and  she  had  only  money 
enough  to  take  her  to  the  hotel  where  her  mother 
retained  a  suite  of  three  rooms.  If  Aunt  Francesca 
and  Rose  would  leave  her  alone  in  the  house  long 
enough,  and  she  could  pack  a  suit-case  and  get  the 
carriage  just  in  time  to  take  her  to  the  train,  she  could 
write  a  formal  note  and  ask  to  have  the  rest  of  her 
things  sent  by  express.  If  there  were  a  late  train,  or 
one  very  early  in  the  morning,  she  could  probably 
manage  it,  even  without  the  carriage,  but,  on  con 
sulting  the  time-table,  she  found  that  trains  did  not 
run  at  hours  suitable  for  escape. 


190  ®U>  IRosc  anb  Silver 

However,  it  was  just  as  well  to  pack  while  she  had 
time.  She  could  keep  the  suit-case  hidden  until  the 
auspicious  moment  arrived.  It  would  only  take  a 
moment  to  open  it  and  sweep  her  toilet  articles  into 
it  from  the  top  of  her  dresser. 

She  had  just  taken  a  fresh  shirtwaist  out  of  the 
drawer  when  there  was  a  light,  determined  rap  at  the 
door.  When  she  opened  it,  she  was  much  astonished 
to  see  Aunt  Francesca  come  in,  dressed  for  a  drive. 

"  Are  you  almost  ready,  Isabel?  "  she  asked,  politely. 

' '  Ready, ' '  gasped  the  girl.  ' '  For  what ?  "  It  seemed 
for  the  moment  as  though  she  had  been  anticipated  in 
her  departure  and  was  about  to  be  put  out  of  the 
house. 

"To  drive  over  to  Kent's,"  answered  Madame, 
imperturbably.  From  her  manner  one  would  have 
thought  the  drive  had  been  long  planned. 

Isabel  sat  down  on  her  bed.  "  I'm  not  going, "  she 
said. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  are,"  returned  Madame,  in  a  small, 
thin  voice.  "You  may  go  in  your  tea  gown  and 
slippers  if  you  prefer,  but  I  will  wait  until  you  dress, 
if  you  are  quick  about  it. " 

"I  won't,"  Isabel  announced,  flatly.  "I'm  sick. 
You  know  I'm  all  bruised  up  and  I  can't  walk. " 

"You  can  walk  down-stairs  and  it's  only  a  few  steps 
farther  to  the  carriage.  I  telephoned  over  to  ask  if  he 
would  see  you,  and  the  nurse  said  that  he  would  be 
very  glad  to  see  you — that  he  had  been  asking  all  day 
why  you  did  not  come.  The  carriage  is  waiting  at  the 
door,  so  please  hurry." 

Isabel  was  head  and  shoulders  taller  than  the 
determined  little  lady  who  stood  there,  waiting,  but 
there  was  something  in  her  manner  that  demanded 


t>ow  Isabel  Came  191 

immediate  obedience.  Sullenly,  Isabel  began  to  dress. 
If  Aunt  Francesca  went  with  her,  it  would  not  be 
necessary  to  say  much.  She  caught  at  the  thought  as 
though  she  were  drowning  and  the  proverbial  straw 
had  floated  into  reach. 

She  took  her  time  about  dressing,  but  Madame  said 
nothing.  She  simply  stood  there,  waiting,  in  the  open 
door,  until  the  last  knot  was  tied,  the  last  pin  ad 
justed,  and  the  last  stray  lock  brushed  into  place. 

Isabel  limped  ostentatiously  all  the  way  down 
stairs  and  had  to  be  assisted  into  the  carriage.  During 
the  brief  drive  neither  spoke.  The  silence  was  un 
broken  until  they  reached  the  door  of  Allison's  room, 
then  Madame  said,  in  a  low  tone:  "The  carriage  will 
call  for  you  in  an  hour.  Remember  he  loves  you,  and 
be  kind." 

Up  to  that  moment,  Isabel  had  not  suspected  that 
she  would  be  obliged  to  see  him  alone.  She  was  furious 
with  Aunt  Francesca  for  thus  betraying  her,  but  no 
retreat  was  possible.  The  nurse  smilingly  ushered  her 
in,  passed  her  almost  on  the  threshold,  and  went  out, 
quietly  closing  the  door. 

Allison,  as  eager  as  a  boy  of  twenty,  had  half  risen 
in  bed.  The  injured  hand  was  hidden  by  the  sheet, 
but  the  other  was  outstretched  in  welcome.  "  Isabel, " 
he  breathed.  "  My  Isabel ! " 

Isabel  did  not  move.  "How  do  you  do?"  she  said, 
primly. 

"I'm  sorry  I  can't  get  you  a  chair,  dear.  Come 
close,  won't  you?" 

Isabel  limped  painfully  to  the  chair  that  was 
farthest  from  him,  dragged  it  over  to  the  bed,  and 
sat  down — just  out  of  his  reach.  Below,  the  rumble 
of  wheels  announced  that  Madame  had  gone  back 


192  ®R>  "Rose  ant>  Silver 

home.  Unless  she  walked,  Isabel  was  stranded  at 
Kent's  for  a  full  hour. 

"My  note,"  Allison  was  saying.  "You  got  it, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes.    It  came  while  I  was  at  luncheon  to-day. " 

It  flashed  upon  him  for  an  instant  that  the  reality 
was  disappointing,  that  this  was  not  all  as  he  had 
dreamed  it  would  be,  but  pride  bade  him  conceal  his 
disappointment  as  best  he  could. 

"You  were  hurt,"  he  said,  tenderly.  "I'm  so 
sorry." 

"Yes.    I  was  hurt  quite  a  good  deal. " 

"But  you're  all  right  now,  and  I'm  so  glad!" 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  listlessly. 

Her  eyes  roved  about  the  room,  observing  every 
detail  of  furniture  and  ornament.  It  was  old-fash 
ioned,  and  in  a  way  queer,  she  thought.  She  was  glad 
that  she  would  never  have  to  live  there. 

Allison  watched  her  eagerly.  Like  a  wayfarer  in 
the  desert  thirsting  for  water,  he  longed  for  her 
tenderness;  for  one  unsought  kiss,  even  in  farewell. 
His  pride  sustained  him  no  longer.  "Dear,"  he 
pleaded,  like  the  veriest  beggar;  "won't  you  kiss  me 
just  once?  " 

Isabel  hesitated.  "  It  isn't  proper, "  she  murmured, 
"now  that  we  are  no  longer  engaged.  I'm  sorry  you 
got  hurt, "  she  added,  as  an  afterthought. 

Allison's  face  paled  suddenly.  So,  she  accepted  her 
release!  Then  eager  justification  of  her  made  him 
wonder  if  by  any  chance  she  could  have  misunder 
stood. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  with  cold  lips,  "did  you  think 
for  a  single  instant  that  I  wanted  to  release  you?  I 
did  it  because  it  was  the  only  thing  an  honourable  man 


t)ow  Isabel  Came  193 

could  do,  and  I  wouldn't  let  pity  for  me  hold  you  to  a 
promise  made  in  love.  It  wasn't  that  I  didn't  want 
you.  I've  wanted  you  every  day  and  every  hour. 
Only  God  knows  how  I've  wanted  you  and  shall  want 
you  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  unless " 

He  paused,  hoping,  for  the  space  of  a  heart-beat, 
that  the  dream  might  come  true. 

But  Isabel  did  not  move  from  her  chair.  She  sur 
veyed  the  opposite  wall  for  a  few  moments  before  she 
spoke.  "It  was  honourable,"  she  said,  in  a  more 
friendly  tone.  "Of  course  it  was  the  only  thing  you 
could  do. " 

"Of  course,"  he  echoed,  bitterly. 

Isabel  rose,  went  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  leaned 
upon  it,  facing  him.  "I'm  afraid  I've  stayed  too 
long,"  she  said.  "I  think  I'd  better  go.  I  can  wait 
downstairs  for  the  carriage. " 

Allison  did  not  answer.  His  eyes  burned  strangely 
in  his  white  face,  making  her  vaguely  uncomfortable 
and  afraid.  She  turned  the  diamond  ring  upon  her 
finger  and  slowly  slipped  it  off. 

"I  suppose  I  must  give  this  back,"  she  said, 
reluctantly.  "  I  mustn't  wear  it  now. " 

"Why  not?"  he  asked  huskily. 

"Because  it  doesn't  mean  anything — now." 

"  It  never  did.    Keep  it,  Isabel. " 

"Thank  you, "  she  said,  calmly,  putting  it  back,  but 
on  the  middle  finger.  "  I  must  go  how.  I  hope  you'll 
get  along  all  right. " 

"Wait  just  a  minute,  please."  He  rang  a  bell 
that  was  on  a  table  within  his  reach,  and  the  nurse 
came  in.  "  Please  bring  me  my  violin. " 

Isabel  turned  to  the  door  but  was  held  back  by  a 
peremptory  command .  ' '  Wait ! ' ' 

13 


194  ©K>  "Rose  anfc  Silver 

"Here,"  he  cried  shrilly,  offering  Isabel  the  violin. 
"Take  this,  too!" 

"What  for? "  she  asked,  curiously.  " I  can't  play. " 
"Nevertheless,  it  belongs  to  you.     Keep  it,  as  a 
souvenir!" 

Holding  the  violin  awkwardly,  Isabel  backed  out 
of  the  room,  the  nurse  following  her  and  closing  the 
door.  The  nurse  was  a  young  woman  who  had  not 
sacrificed  her  normal  human  sympathy  to  her  chosen 
work,  but  had  managed,  happily,  to  combine  the  two- 
She  watched  Isabel  disdainfully  as  she  went  down 
stairs,  very  briskly  for  one  with  a  sprained  ankle. 
" God ! "  said  Allison,  aloud.  "Oh,  God  in  Heaven ! " 
Then  the  nurse  turned  away  in  pity,  for  behind  the 
closed  door  she  heard  a  grown  man  sobbing  like  a 
hurt  child. 


XVII 
penance 

THE  Crosby  twins  had  gone  home  very  quietly,  after 
doing  all  they  could  to  help  Colonel  Kent  and  Madame 
Bernard.  "The  Yellow  Peril"  chugged  along  at  the 
lowest  speed  with  all  its  gaudy  banners  torn  down. 
Neither  spoke  until  they  passed  the  spot  where  the 
red  touring  car  lay  on  its  side  in  the  ditch,  and  four  or 
five  dogs,  still  hungry  and  hopeful,  wrangled  over  a 
few  bare  bones. 

Juliet  was  sniffing  audibly,  and,  as  soon  as  she 
saw  the  wreck,  burst  into  tears.  "Oh,  Romie,"  she 
sobbed,  "if  he's  dead,  we've  killed  him!" 

Romeo  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat,  winked 
hard,  and  roughly  advised  Juliet  to  "shut  up." 

When  the  machine  was  safely  in  the  barn,  and  all 
the  scattered  dogs  collected  and  imprisoned,  Romeo 
came  in,  ready  to  talk  it  over.  "We've  got  to  do 
something,"  he  said,  "but  I  don't  know  what  it  is." 

"Oh,  Romie,"  cried  Juliet  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  tears,  "do  you  think  they'll  hang  us?  We're 
murderers!" 

Romeo  considered  for  a  moment  before  he  answered. 
"We  aren't  murderers,  because  we  didn't  go  to  do  it. 
They  won't  hang  us — but  they  ought  to,"  he  added, 
remorsefully. 

"What  can  we  do?"  mourned  Juliet.  "Oh,  what 
can  we  do?" 

195 


196  ©R>  "Rose  anfc  Silver 

"Well,  we  can  pay  all  the  bills  for  one  thing — 
that's  a  good  start.  To-morrow,  I'll  see  about  getting 
that  car  out  of  the  ditch  and  taking  care  of  it. " 

"Somebody  may  steal  it,"  she  suggested. 

"  Not  if  we  guard  it.  One  or  both  of  us  ought  to  sit 
by  it  until  we  can  get  it  into  the  barn. " 

Juliet  wiped  her  eyes.  "  That's  right.  We'll  guard 
it  all  night  to-night  and  while  we're  guarding  it,  we'll 
talk  it  all  over  and  decide  what  to  do. " 

The  dinner  of  unwholesome  delicacies  which  they 
had  planned  as  the  last  feature  of  the  day's  celebra 
tion  was  hesitatingly  renounced.  "We  don't  deserve 
to  have  anything  at  all  to  eat, "  said  Juliet.  "What  is 
it  that  they  feed  prisoners  on?" 

"Bread  and  water — black  bread?" 

"Where  could  we  get  black  bread?" 

"I  don't  know.    I  never  saw  any. " 

After  discussing  a  penitential  menu  for  some  time, 
they  finally  decided  to  live  upon  mush  and  milk  for 
the  present,  and,  if  Allison  should  die,  forever.  "We 
can  warm  it  in  the  winter, "  said  Romeo,  "and  it  won't 
be  so  bad." 

When  their  frugal  repast  was  finished,  they  in 
stinctively  changed  their  festal  garments  for  the  sober 
attire  of  every  day.  Romeo  brought  in  two  lanterns 
and  Juliet  pasted  red  tissue  paper  around  them,  so 
that  they  might  serve  as  warning  signals  of  the  wreck. 
At  sunset,  they  set  forth,  each  with  a  blanket  and 
a  lantern  to  do  sentry  duty  by  the  capsized  car. 

"Oughtn't  we  to  have  a  dog  or  two?"  queried 
Romeo,  as  they  trudged  down  the  road.  "Watchmen 
always  have  dogs." 

"We  oughtn't  to  have  anything  that  would  make 
it  any  easier  for  us  to  watch,  and  besides,  the  dogs, 


penance  197 

weren't  to  blame.  They  don't  need  to  sit  up  with  us — 
let  'em  have  their  sleep." 

"All  right,"  Romeo  grunted.  "Shall  we  divide 
the  night  into  watches  and  one  of  us  sit  on  the  car 
while  the  other  walks?" 

"No,  we'll  watch  together,  and  we  won't  sit  on  the 
car — we'll  sit  on  the  cold,  damp  ground.  If  we  take 
cold  and  die  it  will  only  serve  us  right." 

"We  can't  take  cold  in  June,"  objected  Romeo, 
"with  two  blankets." 

"Unless  it  rains." 

"It  won't  rain  to-night,"  he  said,  gloomily;  "look 
at  the  stars!" 

The  sky  was  clear,  and  pale  stars  shone  faintly  in 
the  afterglow.  There  was  not  even  a  light  breeze — 
the  world  was  as  still  and  calm  as  though  pain  and 
death  were  unknown. 

When  they  reached  the  scene  of  the  accident 
Romeo  set  the  two  red  lanterns  at  the  point  where 
the  back  of  the  car  touched  the  road.  They  spread 
one  blanket  on  the  grass  at  the  other  side  of  the  road 
and  sat  down  to  begin  their  long  vigil.  Romeo  planned 
to  go  home  to  breakfast  at  sunrise  and  bring  Juliet 
some  of  the  mush  and  milk  left  from  supper.  Then, 
while  she  continued  to  watch  the  machine,  he  would 
go  into  town  and  make  arrangements  for  its  removal. 

"Is  there  room  in  our  barn  for  both  cars?"  she 
asked. 

"No.    Ours  will  have  to  come  out. " 

Juliet  shuddered.    "I  never  want  to  see  it  again.*' 

"Neither  do  I." 

"Can  we  sell  it?" 

"We  ought  not  to  sell  it  unless  we  gave  him  the 
monev.  We  shouldn't  have  it  ourselves." 


198  ©It)  "Rose  an&  Silver 

"Then,"  suggested  Juliet,  "why  don't  we  give  it 
away  and  give  him  just  as  much  as  it  cost,  including 
our  suits  and  the  dogs'  collars  and  everything?" 

"We  have  no  right  to  give  away  a  man-killer. 
'The  Yellow  Peril'  is  cursed." 

"Let's  sacrifice  it,"  she  cried.  "Let's  make  a 
funeral  pyre  in  the  yard  and  burn  it,  and  our  suits  and 
the  dogs'  collars  and  everything.  Let's  burn  every 
thing  we've  got  that  we  care  for!" 

"All  right,"  agreed  Romeo,  uplifted  by  the  zeal 
of  the  true  martyr.  "And,"  he  added,  regretfully, 
"I'll  shoot  all  the  dogs  and  bury  'em  in  one  long 
trench.  I  don't  want  to  see  anything  again  that  was 
in  it." 

"I  don't  either,"  returned  Juliet.  She  wondered 
whether  she  should  permit  the  wholesale  execution  of 
the  herd,  since  it  was  a  thing  she  had  secretly  desired 
for  a  long  time.  "You  mustn't  shoot  Minerva  and 
the  puppies,"  she  continued,  as  her  strict  sense  of 
justice  asserted  itself,  "because  she  wasn't  in  it.  She 
was  at  home  taking  care  of  her  children  and  they'd 
die  if  she  should  be  shot  now." 

So  it  was  settled  that  Minerva,  who  had  taken  no 
part  in  the  fatal  celebration,  should  be  spared,  with 
her  innocent  babes. 

"And  in  a  few  years  more,"  said  Romeo,  hopefully, 
"we'll  have  lots  more  dogs,  though  probably  not  as 
many  as  we've  got  now." 

Juliet  sighed  heavily  but  was  in  honour  bound  to 
make  no  objections,  for  long  ago,  when  they  arbi 
trated  the  dog  question,  it  was  written  in  the  covenant 
that  no  dogs  should  be  imported  or  none  killed,  except 
by  mutual  consent.  And  Minerva  had  five  puppies, 
and  if  each  of  the  five  should  follow  the  maternal 


finance  199 


example,  and  if  each  of  those  should  do  likewise — 
Juliet  i  airly  lost  her  head  in  a  maze  of  mental 
arithmetic. 

"We  ought  to  go  into  deep  mourning,"  Romeo  was 
saying. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that.  We  should  repent  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  only  I  don't  know  what  sackcloth 
is." 

"I  guess  it's  that  rough  brown  stuff  they  make 
potato  bags  of." 

"Burlap?" 

"Yes.  But  we  haven't  many  ashes  at  this  time  of 
year  and  we'll  have  still  less  if  we  live  on  mush  and 
milk." 

"Maybe  we  could  get  ashes  somewhere,"  she  said, 
thoughtfully. 

"We'd  have  to,  because  it  would  take  us  over  a 
year  to  get  enough  to  repent  in. " 

"There'll  be  ashes  left  from  the  automobile  and  the 
suits,  and  if  you  can  get  enough  potato  bags,  I'll  fix 
'em  so  we  can  wear  'em  at  the  sacrifice  and  afterwards 
we  can  buy  deep  mourning." 

"All  right,  but  you  mustn't  make  pretty  suits." 

"  I  couldn't,  out  of  potato  bags.  They'll  have  to  be 
plain — very  plain." 

"The  first  thing  is  to  get  this  car  into  our  barn,  and 
write  and  tell  Colonel  Kent  where  it  is.  Then  we'll 
get  our  black  clothes,  and  then  we'll  shoot  the  dogs 
and  bury  'em,  and  then  we'll  have  the  sacrifice,  and 
then " 

"And  then,"  repeated  Juliet. 

"Then  we'll  have  to  go  and  tell  'em  all  what  we've 
done,  and  offer  to  pay  all  the  bills,  and  give  'em  the 
price  of  the  car  besides  for  damages. " 


200  $fc  "Rose  ant>  Silver 

"Oh,  Romie,"  cried  Juliet,  with  a  shudder,  "we 
don't  have  to  go  and  tell  'em,  do  we?  We  don't  have 
to  take  strangers  into  our  consciences,  do  we?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Romeo,  sternly.  "Just  be 
cause  we  don't  want  to  do  it  is  why  we've  got  to. 
We've  got  to  do  hard  things  when  we  make  a  sacrifice. 
Lots  of  people  think  they're  charitable  if  they  give 
away  their  old  clothes  and  things  they  don't  want. 
It  isn't  charity  to  give  away  things  you  want  to  get 
rid  of  and  it  isn't  a  sacrifice  to  do  things  you  don't 
mind  doing.  The  harder  it  is  and  the  more  we  don't 
want  to  do  it,  the  better  sacrifice." 

His  logic  was  convincing,  but  Juliet  drooped  visibly. 
The  bent  little  figure  on  the  blanket  was  pathetic, 
but  the  twins  were  not  given  to  self-pity.  As  time 
went  on,  the  conversation  lagged.  They  had  both 
had  a  hard  day,  from  more  than  one  standpoint,  and 
it  was  not  surprising  that  by  midnight,  the  self- 
appointed  sentries  were  sound  asleep  upon  one 
blanket,  with  Romeo's  coat  for  a  pillow  and  the  other 
blanket  tucked  around  them. 

The  red  lanterns  burned  faithfully  until  almost 
dawn,  then  smoked  and  went  out,  leaving  an  un 
pleasant  odour  that  lasted  until  sunrise.  The  rumble 
of  a  distant  cart  woke  them,  and  they  sat  up,  shame 
facedly  rubbing  their  eyes. 

"Oh,"  cried  Juliet,  conscience-stricken,  "we  went 
to  sleep !  We  went  to  sleep  on  duty !  How  could  we  ?  " 

"Dunno,"  returned  Romeo,  with  a  frank  yawn. 
"Guess  we  were  tired.  Anyhow,  the  machine  is  all 
right." 

When  the  milkman  came  in  sight,  they  hailed  him 
and  purchased  a  quart  of  milk.  He  was  scarcely  sur 
prised  to  see  them,  for  the  Crosbys  were  widely  known 


penance  *oi 

to  be  eccentric,  and  presently  he  drove  on.  His 
query  about  the  wrecked  car  had  passed  unnoticed. 

"If  you'll  stay  here,  Jule,"  said  Romeo,  wiping  his 
mouth,  "I'll  go  and  get  a  team  and  some  rope  and 
we'll  get  the  car  in. " 

"Can't  I  go  too?" 

"No,  you  stay  here.  It's  bad  enough  to  sleep  at 
your  post  without  deserting  it." 

"You  slept,  too,"  retorted  Juliet,  quickly  on  the 
defensive,  "and  I'm  a  girl." 

"Huh!"  he  sneered.  The  claim  of  feminine  privi 
lege  invariably  disgusted  him  beyond  words. 

"Suppose  people  come  by — "  Juliet  faltered;  "and 
— ask — questions. " 

"Answer  'em,"  advised  Romeo,  briefly.  "Tell 
'em  we've  killed  a  man  and  are  going  to  suffer  for 
it.  We  deserve  to  have  everybody  know  it. " 

But,  fortunately  for  Juliet's  quicker  sensibilities, 
no  one  passed  by  in  the  hour  Romeo  was  gone.  He 
came  from  the  nearest  farm  with  an  adequate  number 
of  assistants  and  such  primitive  machinery  as  was  at 
hand.  The  car  was  not  badly  damaged  and  was 
finally  towed  into  the  Crosbys'  barn.  Then  they  went 
into  the  house  and  composed  a  letter  to  Colonel 
Kent,  but  put  off  copying  and  sending  it  until  they 
should  be  able  to  get  black  bordered  stationery. 

Two  weeks  later,  clad  in  deepest  mourning,  the 
twins  trudged  into  town.  At  Colonel  Kent's  there 
was  no  one  in  authority  to  receive  them  and  their 
errand  was  of  too  much  importance  to  be  communi 
cated  to  either  physician  or  nurse.  Their  own  un 
opened  letter  lay  on  the  library  table,  with  many 
others. 

Subdued  and  chastened  in  demeanour,  they  went 


202  ®ib  TRose  ant)  Silver 

to  Madame  Bernard's  and  waited  in  funereal  silence 
until  Madame  came  down. 

" How  do  you — "  she  began,  then  stopped.  "Why, 
what  is  the  matter?" 

"We  ran  over  him,"  explained  Romeo,  suggestively 
inclining  his  head  in  the  general  direction  of  Kent's. 
"Don't  you  remember?" 

"And  if  he  dies,  we've  killed  him,"  put  in  Juliet, 
sadly. 

"We'll  be  murderers  if  he  dies,"  Romeo  continued, 
"and  we  ought  to  be  hung. " 

In  spite  of  her  own  depression  and  deep  anxiety, 
Madame  saw  how  keenly  the  tragedy  had  affected  the 
twins.  ' '  Why  my  dears ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  Do  you  think 
for  a  minute  that  anybody  in  the  world  blames  you?" 

"We  ought  to  be  blamed,"  Romeo  returned, 
"because  we  did  it." 

"But  not  on  purpose — you  couldn't  help  it." 

"We  could  have  helped  it,"  said  Juliet,  "by  not 
celebrating.  We  had  no  business  to  buy  an  auto 
mobile,  or,  even  if  we  had,  we  shouldn't  have  gone 
out  in  it  until  we  learned  to  run  it. " 

"That's  like  staying  away  from  the  water  until 
you  have  learned  to  swim,"  answered  Madame,  com 
fortingly,  "and  Allison  isn't  going  to  die." 

"Really?  Do  you  mean  it?  Are  you  sure?  How 
do  you  know?"  The  words  came  all  at  once,  in  a 
jumble  of  eager  questions. 

"Because  he  isn't.  The  worst  that  could  possibly 
happen  to  him  would  be  the  loss  of  his  left  hand,  and 
his  father  is  looking  all  over  the  country  for  some 
surgeon  who  can  save  it. " 

"I'd  rather  die  than  to  have  my  hand  cut  off," 
said  Juliet,  in  a  small,  thin  voice. 


penance  203 

"So  would  I,"  added  Romeo. 

"We're  all  hoping  for  the  best,"  Madame  went  on, 
"and  you  must  hope,  too.  Nobody  has  thought  of 
blaming  you,  so  you  mustn't  feel  so  badly  about  it. 
Even  Allison  himself  wouldn't  want  you  to  feel 
badly." 

"But  we  do,"  Romeo  answered,  "in  spite  of  all  the 
sacrifices  and  everything." 

"Sacrifices, "  repeated  Madame,  wonderingly,  "why 
what  do  you  mean?" 

"We  did  sentry  duty  all  night  by  his  car,"  Romeo 
explained,  "and  we're  taking  care  of  it  in  our  barn." 

"And  we've  lived  on  mush  and  milk  ever  since," 
Juliet  added. 

"I  shot  all  the  dogs  but  the  one  with  the  puppies," 
said  Romeo. 

"She  wasn't  in  it,  you  know,"  Juliet  continued. 
"I  helped  dig  the  trench  and  we  buried  the  whole 
nineteen  end  to  end  by  the  fence,  with  their  new 
collars  on. " 

"Then  we  burned  the  automobile,"  resumed 
Romeo.  "We  soaked  it  in  kerosene,  and  put  our 
suits  into  the  back  seat — our  caps  and  goggles  and 
everything.  We  took  out  all  the  pieces  of  iron  and 
steel  and  gave  'em  to  the  junk  man,  and  then  we 
repented  in  sackcloth  and  ashes. " 

"How  so?"  queried  Madame,  with  a  faint  glimmer 
of  amusement  in  her  sad  eyes. 

"Juliet  made  suits  out  of  potato  sacks — very  plain 
suits — and  we  put  'em  on  to  repent  in. " 

"We  went  and  stood  in  the  ashes,"  put  in  Juliet, 
"while  they  were  so  hot  that  they  hurt  our  feet,  and 
Romie  raised  his  right  hand  and  said  'I  repent'  and 
then  I  did  the  same. " 


TCose  an&  Silver 


"And  after  the  ashes  got  cold,  we  sat  down  in  *em 
and  rubbed  'em  into  the  sackcloth  and  our  hair  and 
all  over  our  faces  and  hands." 

"All  the  time  saying,  'I  repent!  I  repent!'  "  con 
tinued  Juliet,  soberly. 

"And  then  we  went  into  mourning,"  concluded 
Romeo. 

Madame's  heart  throbbed  with  tender  pity  for  the 
stricken  twins,  but  she  wisely  said  nothing. 

"Can  you  think  of  anything  more  we  could  do, 
or  any  more  sacrifices  we  could  make?"  inquired 
Juliet,  ready  to  atone  in  full  measure. 

"Indeed  I  can't,"  Madame  replied,  truthfully. 
"I  think  you've  done  everything  that  could  be 
expected  of  you." 

"We  wrote  to  the  Colonel,"  said  Romeo,  "but  he 
hasn't  got  it  yet.  We  saw  it  on  the  library  table.  We 
want  to  pay  all  the  bills.  " 

"And  give  Allison  as  much  money  as  we  spent  on 
the  automobile  and  for  the  suits  and  everything,  and 
pay  for  fixing  up  his  car,"  interrupted  Juliet. 

"We  want  to  do  everything,"  Romeo  said,  with 
marked  emphasis. 

"Everything,"  echoed  Juliet. 

"That's  very  nice  of  you,"  answered  Madame, 
kindly,  "and  we  all  appreciate  it." 

The  stern  young  faces  of  the  twins  relaxed  ever  so 
little.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  discover  that  they  were 
not  objects  of  scorn  and  loathing,  for  they  had 
brooded  over  the  accident  until  they  had  become 
morbid. 

"  Did  you  say  that  you  had  been  living  upon  mush 
and  milk  ever  since?"  asked  Madame. 

"Ever  since,"  they  answered,  together. 


jpenance  205 

"I'm  sure  that's  long  enough,"  she  said.  "I 
wouldn't  do  it  any  longer.  Won't  you  stay  to  dinner 
with  us?" 

With  one  accord  the  twins  rose,  impelled  by  a  single 
impulse  toward  departure. 

''We  couldn't,"  said  Romeo. 

"We  mustn't,"  explained  Juliet.  Then,  with  be 
lated  courtesy,  she  added:  "Thank  you,  just  the 
same. " 

They  made  their  adieux  awkwardly  and  went  home, 
greatly  eased  in  mind.  As  they  trudged  along  the 
dusty  road,  they  occasionally  sighed  in  relief,  but  said 
little  until  they  reached  their  ancestral  abode,  dogless 
now  save  for  the  pups  gambolling  about  the  door-step 
and  Minerva  watching  them  with  maternal  pride. 

"She  said  we'd  lived  on  mush  and  milk  long 
enough,"  said  Romeo,  pensively. 

"We  might  fry  the  mush,"  Juliet  suggested. 

"And  have  butter  and  maple  syrup  on  it?" 

"Maybe." 

"And  drink  the  milk,  and  have  bread,  too?" 

"I  guess  so." 

"And  jam?" 

"Not  while  we're  in  mourning,"  said  Juliet,  firmly. 
"We  can  have  syrup  on  our  bread. " 

"  That's  just  as  good. " 

"If  you  think  so,  you  ought  not  to  have  it." 

"We've  got  to  feed  ourselves,  or  we'll  die,"  he 
objected  vigorously,  "and  if  we're  dead,  we  won't  be 
any  good  to  him  or  to  anybody  else,  and  we  can't  ever 
repent  any  more. " 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Juliet,  with 
sinister  emphasis. 

"  Nothing  will  happen  to  us  that  we  don't  deserve, " 


co6  ©lfc  TRose  and  Stiver 


Romeo  assured  her,  "so  come  on  and  let's  have  jam. 
If  it  makes  us  sick,  it's  wrong,  and  if  it  doesn't,  it's  all 
right." 

The  following  day,  they  voluntarily  returned  to 
their  mush  and  milk,  for  they  had  eaten  too  much 
jam,  and,  having  been  very  ill  in  the  night,  considered 
it  sufficient  evidence  that  their  penance  was  not  yet 
over. 


XVIII 
"less  Gban  tbc  Bust" 

THE  heat  of  August  shimmered  over  the  land,  and 
still,  to  every  inquiry  at  the  door  or  telephone,  the 
quiet  young  woman  in  blue  and  white  said:  "No 
change."  Allison  was  listless  and  apathetic,  yet 
comparatively  free  from  pain. 

Life,  for  him,  had  ebbed  back  to  the  point  where  the 
tide  must  either  cease  or  turn.  He  knew  neither 
hunger  nor  thirst  nor  weariness ;  only  the  great  pause 
of  soul  and  body,  the  sense  of  the  ultimate  goal. 

One  by  one,  he  meditated  upon  the  things  he  used 
to  care  for.  Isabel  came  first,  but  her  youth  and 
beauty  had  ceased  to  trouble  or  to  beckon.  His 
father  had  gone  on  ahead.  The  delusion  still  per 
sisted,  but  he  spoke  of  it  no  more.  Even  the  violin 
did  not  matter  now.  He  remembered  the  endless 
hours  he  had  spent  at  work,  almost  every  day  of  his 
life  for  years,  and  to  what  end?  In  an  instant,  it  had 
been  rendered  empty,  purposeless,  and  vain — like  life 
itself. 

Occasionally  a  new  man  came  to  look  at  his  hand; 
not  from  the  city  now,  but  from  towns  farther  inland. 
The  examinations  were  painful,  of  course,  but  he  made 
no  objections.  After  the  man  had  gone,  he  could 
count  the  slow,  distinct  pulsations  that  marked  the 
ebbing  of  the  pain,  but  never  troubled  himself  to  ask 

207 


208  ©l&  Ktose  anfc  Silver 

either  the  doctor  or  the  nurse  what  the  new  man  had 
said  about  it.  He  no  longer  cared. 

Aunt  Francesca  had  not  come — nor  Rose.  Perhaps 
they  were  dead,  also.  He  asked  the  nurse  one  sultry 
afternoon,  if  they  were  dead. 

"No,"  she  assured  him;  "nobody  is  dead." 

He  wondered,  fretfully,  why  she  should  take  the 
trouble  to  lie  to  him  so  persistently  upon  this  one 
point.  Then  a  cunning  scheme  came  into  his  mind. 
It  presented  itself  mechanically  to  him  as  a  trap  for 
the  nurse.  If  they  were  dead,  she  could  not  produce 
them  instantly  alive,  as  a  conjurer  takes  animals  from 
an  apparently  empty  box.  If  he  demanded  that  she 
should  bring  them  to  him,  or  even  one,  it  would  prove 
his  point  and  let  her  see  that  he  knew  how  she  was 
trying  to  deceive  him. 

"Have  they  gone  away?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  they're  still  there." 

"Then, "  said  Allison,  with  the  air  cf  one  scoring  a 
fine  point,  "will  you  ask — well — ask  Miss  Bernard 
to  come  over  and  see  me?  " 

Remembering  the  other  woman  who  had  come  in 
response  to  his  request,  and  the  disastrous  effect  the 
visit  had  had  upon  her  patient  she  hesitated.  "I'm 
afraid  you're  not  strong  enough,"  she  said  kindly. 
"Can't  you  wait  a  little  longer?" 

"There, "  he  cried.    "I  knew  they  were  dead!" 

As  she  happened  to  be  both  wise  and  kind,  the 
young  woman  hesitated  no  longer.  "If  I  brought 
you  a  note  from  her  you  would  believe  me,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"No, "  he  replied,  stubbornly. 

"Isn't  there  any  way  you  would  know,  without 
seeing  her?  " 


"Xess  tban  tbe  Dust"  209 

He  con-idered  for  a  few  moments.  "I'd  know  if  I 
heard  her  play, "  he  said  at  length.  "There's  no  one 
who  could  play  just  the  way  she  does. " 

"Suppose  I  ask  her  to  come  over  sometimes  and 
play  the  piano  downstairs  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time, 
very  softly.  Would  you  like  that?" 

"Yes — that  is,  I  don't  mind."  He  was  sure,  new, 
that  his  trap  was  in  working  order,  for  no  one  could 
deceive  him  at  the  piano — he  would  recognise  Rose 
at  the  first  chord. 

"Excuse  me  just  a  minute,  please."  She  returned 
presently  with  the  news  that  Rose  would  come  as 
soon  as  she  could.  "Can't  you  go  to  sleep  now?" 
she  suggested. 

Allison  smiled  ironically.    How  transparent  she  was ! 

She  wanted  him  to  go  to  sleep  and  when  he  awoke, 
she  would  tell  him  that  Rose  had  been  there,  and  had 
played,  and  had  just  gone. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  don't  want  to  go  to  sleep. 
I  want  to  hear  Rose  play. " 

So  he  waited,  persistently  wide  awake.  Sharpened 
by  illness  and  pain,  his  hearing  was  phenomenally 
acute;  so  much  so  that  even  a  whisper  in  the  next 
room  was  distinctly  audible.  He  heard  the  distant 
rumble  of  wheels,  approaching  steadily,  and  wondered 
why  the  house  did  not  tremble  when  the  carriage 
stopped.  He  heard  the  lower  door  open  softly,  then 
close,  a  quick,  light  step  in  the  living  room,  the  old- 
fashioned  piano  stool  whirling  on  its  rusty  iixis,  then  a 
few  slow,  deep  chords  prefacing  a  familiar  bit  of  Chopin. 

He  turned  to  the  nurse,  who  sat  in  her  low  rocking- 
chair  at  the  window.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  thought 
you  were  not  telling  me  the  truth. " 

The  young  woman  only  smiled  in  answer.  "  Listen ! " 


2IO 


IRose  an&  Silver 


Prom  downstairs  the  music  came  sof .  _y.  Rose  was 
playing  with  the  exquisite  taste  and  feeling  that 
characterised  everything  she  did.  She  purposely 
avoided  the  extremes  of  despair  and  joy,  keeping  to  the 
safe  middle-ground.  Living  waters  murmured  through 
the  melody,  the  sea  surged  and  crooned,  flying  clouds 
went  through  blue,  sunny  spaces,  and  birds  sang, 
ever  with  an  unfailing  uplift,  as  of  many  wings. 

Allison's  calmness  insensibly  changed,  not  in  degree, 
but  in  quality,  as  the  piano  magically  brought  before 
him  green  distances  lying  fair  beneath  the  warm  sun, 
clover-scented  meadows  and  blossoming  boughs. 
"Life,"  he  said  to  himself;  "life  more  abundant." 

She  drifted  from  one  thing  to  another,  playing 
snatches  of  old  songs,  woven  together  by  modulations 
of  her  own  making.  At  last  she  paused  to  think  of 
something  else,  but  her  fingers  remembered,  and 
began,  almost  of  their  own  accord : 


tban  tbe  Dust 


211 


Allison  stirred  restlessly,  as  he  recalled  how  he  had 
heard  it  before.  He  saw  the  drifted  petals  of  fallen 
roses,  the  moon-shadow  on  the  dial,  hours  wrong,  the 
spangled  cobwebs  in  the  grass  and  the  other  spangles, 
changed  to  faint  iridescence  in  the  enchanted  light  as 
Isabel  came  toward  him  and  into  his  open  arms. 
Could  marble  respond  to  a  lover's  passion,  could  dead 
lips  answer  with  love  for  love,  then  Isabel  might  have 
yielded  to  him  at  least  a  tolerant  tenderness.  He  saw 
her  now,  alien  and  apart,  like  some  pale  star  that 
shone  upon  a  barren  waste,  but  never  for  him. 

Another  phrase,  full  of  love  and  longing,  floated  up 
the  stairway  and  entered  his  room,  a  guest  unbidden. 


He  turned  to  the  nurse.     "Ask  Miss  Bernard  to 
come  up  for  a  few  minutes,  will  you?" 

"Do  you  think  it's  wise?"  she  temporised. 


IRose  ant)  Silver 

"Please  ask  her  to  come  up, "  he  said,  imperatively. 
"Must  I  call  her  myself?" 

So  Rose  came  up,  after  receiving  the  customary 
caution  not  to  stay  too  long  and  avoid  everything  that 
might  be  unpleasant  or  exciting. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway  hesitating. 
Her  face  was  almost  as  white  as  her  linen  gown,  but 
her  eyes  were  shining  with  strange  fires. 

"White  Rose,"  he  said,  wearily,  "I  have  been 
through  hell. " 

"I  know, "  she  answered,  softly,  drawing  up  a  chair 
beside  him.  "Aunt  Francesca  and  I  have  wished 
that  we  might  divide  it  with  you  and  help  you 
bear  it. " 

He  stretched  a  trembling  hand  toward  her  and  she 
took  it  in  both  her  own.  They  were  soft  and  cool,  and 
soothing. 

"Thank  you  for  wanting  to  share  it,"  he  said. 
"Thank  you  for  coming,  for  playing — for  every 
thing." 

"Either  of  us  would  have  come  whenever  you 
wanted  us,  night  or  day." 

"Suppose  it  was  night,  and  I'd  wanted  you  to  come 
and  play  to  me.  Would  you  have  come?" 

"Wiry,  yes.    Of  course  I  would!" 

"I  didn't  know,"  he  stammered,  "that  there  was 
so  much  kindness  in  the  world.  I  have  been  very 
lonely  since " 

Her  eyes  filled  and  she  held  his  hand  more  closely. 
"You  won't  be  lonely  any  more.  I'll  come  whenever 
you  want  me,  night  or  day,  to  play,  to  read — or 
anything.  Only  speak,  and  I'll  come." 

"How  good  you  are!"  he  murmured,  gratefully. 
"No,  please  don't  let  go  of  my  hand."  In  some  in- 


"Xess  tban  tbe  2>ust"  213 

explicable  fashion  strength  seemed  to  flow  to  him 
from  her. 

"I  think  you'll  be  glad  to  know,"  she  said,  "how 
sympathetic  everybody  has  been.  Strangers  stop  us 
on  the  street  to  ask  for  you,  and  people  telephone 
every  day.  Down  in  the  library,  there's  a  pile  of 
letters  that  would  take  days  to  read,  and  many  of 
them  have  foreign  stamps.  It  makes  one  feel  warm 
around  the  heart,  for  it  brings  the  ideal  of  human 
brotherhood  so  near. " 

He  sighed  and  his  face  looked  haggard.  The 
brotherhood  of  man  was  among  the  things  that  did 
not  concern  him  now.  The  weariness  of  the  ages  was 
in  every  line  of  his  body. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  he  went  on,  after  a  little, 
"  what  a  difference  one  little  hour  can  make,  a  min 
ute,  even.  Once  I  had  everything — youth,  health, 
strength  a  happy  home,  love,  a  dear  father,  and  every 
promise  of  success  in  my  chosen  career!  Now  I'm  old 
and  broken ;  health,  strength,  and  love  have  been  taken 
away  in  an  instant,  my  father  is  gone,  and  my  career 
is  only  an  empty  memory.  I  have  no  violin,  and,  if  I 
had,  what  use  would  it  be  to  me  without — why  Rose, 
I  haven't  even  fingers  to  make  the  notes  nor  hands  to 
hold  it." 

Rose  could  bear  no  more.  She  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  arms  outstretched,  all  her  love  and  longing 
swelling  into  infinite  appeal.  "Oh  Boy!"  she  cried, 
"take  mine!  Take  my  hands,  for  always!" 

For  a  tense  instant  they  faced  each  other.  Her 
breast  rose  and  fell  with  every  quick  breath ;  her  eyes 
met  his,  then  faltered,  and  the  crimson  of  shame 
mantled  her  white  face. 

"Oh,"  she  breathed,  painfully,  and  turned  away 


a  14  ©l&  TCose  ant)  Silver 

from  him.  When  she  was  half  way  to  the  door,  he 
called  to  her.  ' '  Rose !  Dear  Rose ! " 

She  hesitated,  her  hand  upon  the  knob.  "Close 
the  door  and  come  back, "  he  pleaded.  "  Please — oh, 
please!" 

Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  she  obeyed  him,  but 
her  face  was  pitiful.  She  could  not  force  herself  to 
look  at  him.  "Forgive,"  she  murmured,  "and 
forget. " 

The  hand  he  took  in  his  was  cold,  but  her  nearness 
gave  him  comfort,  as  never  before.  His  heart  was 
unspeakably  tender  toward  her. 

"Rose,"  he  went  on,  softly,  "I've  been  too  near 
the  other  world  not  to  have  the  truth  now.  Tell  me 
what  you  mean!  Make  me  understand!" 

She  did  not  answer,  nor  even  lift  her  eyes.  She 
breathed  hard,  as  though  she  were  in  pain. 

"Rose,"  he  said  again,  tightening  his  clasp  upon 
the  hand  she  tried  to  draw  away,  "did  you  mean 
that  you  would  be  my 

"In  name, "  she  interrupted,  throwing  up  her  head 
proudly.  "Just  to  help  you — that  was  all. " 

He  drew  her  hand  to  his  hot  lips  and  kissed  it  twice. 
"Oh,  how  divinely  kind  you  are,"  he  whispered, 
"even  to  think  of  stooping  to  such  as  I!" 

"Have  pity,"  she  said  brokenly,  "and  let  me  go." 

"Pity?"  he  repeated.  "In  all  the  world  there  is 
none  like  yours.  To  think  of  your  being  willing  to 
sacrifice  yourself,  through  pity  of  me!" 

The  blood  came  back  into  her  heart  by  leaps  and 
bounds.  She  had  not  utterly  betrayed  herself,  then, 
since  he  translated  it  thus. 

"Listen,"  he  was  saying.  "I  cared — terribly,  but 
it's  gone,  and  my  heart  is  empty.  It's  like  an  open 


"Xess  tban  tbe  H)ust"  215 

grave,  waiting  for  something  that  does  not  come. 
Did  you  ever  care?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  with  eyes  downcast. 

"Did  you  care  for  someone  who  did  not  care  for 
you?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  again. 

"And  he  never  knew?" 

"No. "    The  word  was  almost  a  whisper. 

"He  must  have  been  a  brute,  not  to  have  cared. 
Was  it  long  ago?" 

"Not  very." 

"Have  I  ever  met  him?" 

The  suggestion  of  an  ironical  smile  hovered  for  a 
moment  around  her  pale  lips,  then  vanished.  "No." 

"I  have  no  right  to — to  ask  his  name." 

"No.    What  difference  does  a  name  make?" 

"None.  Could  you  never  bring  yourself  to  care 
for  anyone  else?" 

"No,"  she  breathed.    "Oh,  no!" 

"And  yet,  with  your  heart  as  empty  as  mine  you 
still  have  pity  enough  to " 

"To  serve  you,"  she  answered.  Her  eyes  met  his 
clearly  now.  "To  help  you — as  your  best  friend 
might. " 

"Rose,  dear  Rose!  You  give  me  new  courage,  but 
how  can  I  let  you  sacrifice  yourself  for  me?" 

"Believe  me,"  she  said  diffidently,  "there  is  no 
question  of  sacrifice.  Have  you  never  thought  of 
what  you  might  do,  that  would  be  even  better  than 
the  career  you  had  planned?" 

"Why,  no.    What  could  I  do,  without " 

"Write,"  she  said,  with  her  eyes  shining.  "Let 
others  play  what  you  write.  Immortality  comes  by 
way  of  the  printed  page." 


216  ®ft  Ktose  an&  Silver 

"I  couldn't,"  he  returned,  doubtfully.  "I  never 
composed  anything  except  two  or  three  little  things 
that  I  never  dared  to  play,  even  for  encores." 

"Never  say  you  can't.  Say  'I  must,'  and  'I 
will.'  " 

"You're  saying  them  for  me.  You  almost  make  me 
believe  in  myself. " 

"That's  the  very  best  of  beginnings,  isn't  it?:' 

She  was  quite  calm  now,  outwardly,  and  she  drew 
her  hand  away.  Allison  remembered  the  long,  happy 
hours  they  had  spent  together  before  Isabel  came  into 
his  life.  Now  that  she  was  gone,  the  old  comradeship 
had  returned,  the  sweeter  because  of  long  absence. 
Rose  had  never  fretted  nor  annoyed  him;  she  seemed 
always  to  understand. 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I'd  be,"  he  sighed,  "to 
feel  that  I  wasn't  quite  out  of  it — that  there  was 
something  in  life  for  me  still.  I  didn't  want  to  be  a 
bit  of  driftwood  on  the  current  of  things. " 

"You're  not  going  to  be — I  won't  let  you.  Haven't 
you  learned  that  sometimes  we  have  to  wait;  that  we 
can't  always  be  going  on?  Just  moor  your  soul  at  the 
landing  place,  and  when  the  hour  comes,  you'll  swing 
out  into  the  current  again.  Much  of  the  driftwood  is 
only  craft  that  broke  away  from  the  landing. " 

He  smiled,  for  her  fancy  pleased  him.  An  abiding 
sense  of  companionship  crept  into  his  loneliness;  his 
isolation  seemed  to  be  shared.  "And  you'll  stay  at 
the  landing  with  me,"  he  whispered,  "until  the  time 
comes  to  set  sail  again?" 

"Yes." 

"And — after  the  worst  that  can  come — is  over, 
we'll  make  it  right  with  the  world  and  go  abroad 
together?" 


"Xess  tban  tbe  E>ust"  a  17 

"Yes. "    Her  voice  was  very  low  now. 

"And  we'll  be  the  best  of  friends,  for  always?" 

"Yes — the  best  of  friends  in  all  the  world." 

"And  you'll  promise  me  that,  if  you're  ever  sorry, 
you'll  come  straight  and  tell  me — that  you'll  ask  me 
to  set  you  free?" 

"I  promise." 

"Then  everything  is  all  right  between  you  and 
me?" 

"Yes,  but  I'm  ashamed — bitterly  ashamed." 

"You  mustn't  be,  for  I'm  very  glad.  We'll  try  to 
forget  the  wreckage  together.  I  couldn't  have  asked, 
unless  I  had  known  about — the  other  man,  and  you 
wouldn't  have  told  me,  I  know.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
like  you  to  tell  me. " 

There  was  a  knock,  the  door  opened,  and  the  nurse 
came  in,  watch  in  hand.  "I'm  sorry,  Miss  Bernard, 
but  you  can  come  to-morrow  if  he's  well  enough." 

"I'll  be  well  enough,"  said  Allison,  smiling. 

"Of  course,"  Rose  assured  him,  shaking  hands  in 
friendly  fashion.  "Don't  forget  that  it's  a  secret." 

"  I  won't.    Good-bye,  Rose. " 

When  she  had  gone,  the  nurse  studied  him  furtively, 
from  across  the  room.  He  had  changed  in  some  subtle 
way — he  seemed  stronger  than  before.  Unless  it  was 
excitement,  to  be  followed  by  a  reaction,  Miss  Bernard 
had  done  him  good.  The  night  would  prove  it 
definitely,  one  way  or  the  other. 

Allison  slept  soundly  until  daybreak,  for  the  first 
time — not  stupor,  but  natural  sleep.  The  nurse  began 
to  wonder  if  it  was  possible  that  a  hand  so  badly 
crushed  and  broken  could  be  healed.  Hitherto  her 
service  had  been  mechanically  kind ;  she  had  taken  no 
interest  because  she  saw  no  hope.  How  wonderful  it 


2i 8  ©U>  1Rose  ant)  Silver 

would  be  if  that  long  procession  of  learned  counsellors 
should  be  mistaken,  after  all! 

Rose  walked  home,  disdaining  the  waiting  carriage. 
She  had  forgotten  her  hat  and  the  sunset  lent  radiance 
to  a  face  that  needed  no  more.  By  rare  tact  and 
kindness,  Allison  had  removed  the  sting  from  her 
shame  and  the  burden  she  had  borne  so  long  was 
lifted  from  her  heavy  heart. 

She  was  happier  now  than  she  had  ever  been  before 
in  her  life,  but  she  must  hide  her  joy  from  the  others 
as  she  had  previously  hidden  her  pain — or  tried  to. 
She  knew  that  Isabel  would  not  see,  but  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca's  eyes  were  keen  and  she  could  not  tell  even  her 
just  now. 

How  strange  it  would  be  to  wake  in  the  night, 
without  that  dull,  dead  pain!  How  strange  it  was  to 
feel  herself  needed,  and  oh,  the  joy  of  serving  him! 

She  thrilled  with  the  ecstasy  of  sacrifice;  with  that 
maternal  compassion  which  is  a  vital  element  in 
woman's  love  for  man.  Sublimated  beyond  passion 
and  self-seeking,  and  asking  only  the  right  to  give,  she 
poured  out  the  treasure  of  her  soul  at  his  feet,  though 
her  pride  demanded  that  he  must  never  know. 

When  she  went  into  the  house,  light  seemed  to 
enter  the  shaded  room  with  her.  No  one  was  there, 
but  the  open  piano  waited,  ready  to  receive  a  confi 
dence.  With  a  laugh  that  was  half  a  sob  of  joy,  she 
sat  down,  her  fingers  readily  finding  the  one  thing  that 
suited  her  mood. 

The  wild,  half  savage  music  rang  through  the  house 
in  full,  deep  chords,  but  only  Rose  knew  the  words, 
which,  in  her  mind,  fitted  themselves  to  the  melody 
as  though  she  dared  to  sing  them: 


"Xess  tban  tbe  Bust"  §19 

"  Less  than  the  dust  beneath  thy  chariot  wheel, 
Less  than  the  rust  that  never  stained  thy  sword, 
Less  than  the  trust  thou  hast  in  me,  O  Lord; 
Even  less  than  these. 

"  Less  than  the  weed  that  grows  beside  thy  door, 
Less  than  the  speed  of  hours  spent  far  from  thee, 
Less  than  the  need  thou  hast  in  life  of  me; 
Even  less  am  I. " 

Upstairs,  Isabel  yawned  lazily,  and  wondered  why 
Rose  should  play  so  loud,  but  Aunt  Francesca  smiled 
to  herself,  for  she  knew  that  Allison  was  better  and 
that  Rose  was  glad. 


XIX 
Over  tbe  JSar 

As  a  flower  may  bloom  in  a  night,  joy  returned  to 
Madame  Bernard's  house  after  long  absence.  There 
was  no  outward  sign,  for  Rose  was  still  quiet  and  self- 
controlled,  but  her  face  was  a  shade  less  pale  and 
there  was  a  tremulous  music  in  her  voice. 

Isabel  had  ceased  to  limp,  but  still  dwelt  upon  the 
shock  and  its  lingering  effects.  She  amused  herself  in 
her  own  way,  reading  paper-covered  novels,  feasting 
upon  chocolates,  teasing  Mr.  Boffin,  and  playing 
solitaire.  Madame  remarked  to  Rose  that  Isabel 
seemed  to  have  a  cosmic  sense  of  time. 

The  guest  never  came  down-stairs  till  luncheon  was 
announced,  and  did  not  trouble  herself  to  make  an 
elaborate,  or  even  appropriate  toilet.  Madame  began 
to  wonder  how  long  Isabel  intended  to  remain  and  to 
see  the  wisdom  of  the  modern  fashion  of  appointing 
the  hour  of  departure  in  the  invitation. 

Yet,  as  she  said  to  herself  rather  grimly,  she  would 
have  invited  Isabel  to  remain  through  the  Summer, 
and  perhaps,  in  the  early  Autumn  she  might  return  to 
town  of  her  own  accord.  Moreover,  there  appeared 
to  be  no  graceful  way  of  requesting  an  invited  guest 
to  leave. 

Though  Madame  was  annoyed  by  the  mere  fact  of 
Isabel's  presence,  she  had  ceased  to  distress  Rose,  who 

220 


©ver  tbc  JSar  221 

dwelt  now  in  a  world  apart  from  the  others.  She 
spent  her  afternoons  at  the  other  house,  playing 
softly  downstairs,  reading  to  Allison,  or  talking  to  him 
of  the  brilliant  future  that  she  insisted  was  to  be 
his. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  of  the  hour  in  which  Rose 
had  unwittingly  revealed  herself,  nor  did  they  seem  to 
avoid  the  subject.  Allison  had  taken  her  for  granted, 
on  a  high  plane  of  pure  friendliness,  and  not  for  an 
instant  did  he  translate  her  overpowering  impulse  as 
anything  but  womanly  pity. 

She  practised  for  an  hour  or  two  every  morning 
that  she  might  play  better  in  the  afternoon,  she  ran 
sacked  the  library  for  interesting  and  cheerful  things 
to  read  to  him,  and  she  even  found  a  game  or  two  that 
he  seemed  to  enjoy.  From  Madame  Francesca's 
spotless  kitchen  came  many  a  dainty  dish  to  tempt  his 
capricious  appetite,  and  all  the  flowers  from  both 
gardens,  daily,  made  a  bower  of  his  room. 

Constantly,  too,  Rose  brought  the  message  of 
hopefulness  and  good  cheer.  From  her  abounding  life 
and  superb  vitality  he  drew  unconscious  strength; 
the  hidden  forces  that  defy  analysis  once  more  exerted 
themselves  in  his  behalf.  So  far  as  man  is  of  the  earth, 
earthy,  by  the  earth  and  its  fruits  may  he  be  healed, 
but  the  heavenly  part  of  him  may  be  ministered  unto 
only  by  the  angels  of  God. 

His  old  fear  of  the  darkness  had  gone  and  the  night- 
light  had  been  taken  out  into  the  hall.  In  the  faint 
glow,  he  could  see  the  objects  in  his  room  distinctly, 
during  the  brief  intervals  of  wakefulness.  A  flower 
dropped  from  its  vase,  a  book  lying  half  open,  a 
crumpled  handkerchief  upon  his  chiffonier,  the  pervad 
ing  scent  of  attar  of  roses  and  dried  petals — all  these 


C22  ®ft  "Rose  anfc  Sliver 

brought  hi™  a  strange  sense  of  nearness  to  Rose,  as  a 
perfume  may  be  distilled  from  a  memory. 

Day  by  day,  Isabel  became  more  remote.  He 
thought  of  her  without  emotion  when  he  thought  of 
her  at  all,  for  only  women  may  know  the  agony  of 
love  enduring  after  the  foundation  upon  which  it  was 
built  has  been  swept  away. 

The  strange  men  from  distant  places  came  less 
frequently.  Days  would  pass,  and  bring  no  word. 
The  country  doctor  who  had  first  been  called  stopped 
occasionally  when  time  permitted,  and  his  faithful 
old  horse  needed  a  little  rest,  but  he  only  shook  his 
head.  He  admitted  to  the  nurse  that  he  was  greatly 
surprised  because  the  inevitable  operation  had  not 
yet  become  imperative. 

Colonel  Kent  seemed  to  have  been  lost  for  almost  a 
week.  During  that  time  no  word  had  been  received 
from  him  and  Madame's  daily  bulletin:  "No  change 
for  the  worse,"  had  been  returned,  marked  "not 
found."  She  was  vaguely  troubled  and  uneasy,  fear 
ing  that  something  might  have  happened  to  him,  but 
forebore  to  speak  of  her  fears. 

One  morning,  while  Allison  was  still  asleep,  the 
nurse  wakened  him  gently.  ' '  A  new  man,  Mr.  Allison ; 
can  you  see  him  now?" 

"I  don't  care,"  he  replied.    "Bring  him  in." 

The  newcomer  was  a  young  man — one  would  have 
guessed  that  the  ink  was  scarcely  dry  on  his  diploma. 
He  had  a  determined  mouth,  a  square  chin,  kind  eyes, 
and  the  buoyant  youthful  courage  that,  by  itself, 
carries  one  far  upon  any  chosen  path. 

He  smiled  at  Allison  and  Allison  smiled  back  at  him, 
in  friendly  fashion.  "Now,"  said  the  young  man, 
"let's  see." 


tbe  3Bar  223 

His  big  fingers  were  astonishingly  gentle,  they 
worked  with  marvellous  dexterity,  and,  for  the  first 
time,  the  dreaded  examination  was  almost  painless. 
He  asked  innumerable  questions  both  of  Allison  and 
the  nurse,  and  wanted  to  know  who  had  been  there 
previously. 

The  nurse  had  kept  no  record,  but  she  knew  some 
of  the  men,  and  mentioned  their  names — names  to 
conjure  with  in  the  professional  world.  Even  the  two 
great  Germans  had  said  it  was  of  no  use. 

The  young  man  wrinkled  his  brows  in  deep  thought. 
"What  have  you  been  using?"  he  inquired,  of  the 
nurse. 

"Everything.    Come  here. " 

She  led  him  into  the  next  room,  where  a  formidable 
array  of  bottles  and  boxes  almost  covered  a  large 
table.  He  looked  them  all  over,  carefully,  scrutinising 
the  names  on  the  druggist's  labels,  sniffing  here  and 
there,  occasionally  holding  some  one  bottle  to  the 
light,  and  finally,  out  of  sheer  youthful  curiosity, 
counting  them. 

Then  he  laughed — a  cheery,  hearty  laugh  that  woke 
long-sleeping  echoes  in  the  old  house  and  made  Allison 
smile,  in  the  next  room.  "It  seems,"  he  commented, 
' '  that  a  doctor  has  to  leave  a  prescription  as  other  men 
leave  cards — just  as  a  polite  reminder  of  the  call." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  them?" 

"Dump  'em  all  out — I  don't  care.  Or,  wait  a 
minute;  there's  no  rush." 

He  went  back  to  Allison.  "  I  see  you've  got  quite  a 
drug  store  here.  Are  you  particularly  attached  to  any 
special  concoction?" 

"Indeed  I'm  not.  Most  of  'em  have  hurt — 
sinfully." 


224  O!&  IRose  anfc  Silver 

"I  don't  know  that  anything  has  to  be  painful  or 
disagreeable  in  order  to  be  healing,"  remarked  the 
young  man,  thoughtfully.  "Would  you  like  to  throw 
'em  all  out  of  the  window?" 

"I  certainly  would." 

"All  right — that'll  be  good  business."  He  swung 
Allison's  bed  around  so  that  his  right  arm  rested  easily 
on  the  window  sill,  requested  the  nurse  to  wheel  the 
drug  store  within  easy  reach,  and  rapidly  uncorked 
bottle  after  bottle  with  his  own  hands. 

"Now  then,  get  busy." 

He  sat  by,  smiling,  while  Allison  poured  the  varying 
contents  of  the  drug  store  on  the  ground  below  and 
listened  for  the  sound  of  breaking  glass  when  the 
bottle  swiftly  followed  the  last  gurgling  drop.  When 
all  had  been  disposed  of,  the  nurse  took  out  the  table, 
and  the  young  man  smiled  expansively  at  Allison. 

"Feel  better?" 

"I— think  so." 

"Good.  Now,  look  here.  How  much  does  your 
hand  mean  to  you?" 

"How  much  does  it  mean?"  repeated  Allison,  piti 
fully.  "  It  means  life,  career — everything. " 

"Enough  to  make  a  fight  for  it  then,  I  take  it. " 

Dull  colour  surged  by  waves  into  Allison's  white 
face.  "What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  in  a  broken 
voice.  ' '  Tell  me  what  you  mean ! ' ' 

But  the  young  man  was  removing  his  coat.  "Hot 
day,"  he  was  saying,  "and  the  young  lady  won't 
mind  my  negligee  as  long  as  the  braces  don't  show. 
Strange — how  women  hate  nice  new  braces.  Say," 
he  said  to  the  nurse  as  she  returned,  "get  somebody 
to  go  up  to  the  station  and  bring  down  my  trunk,  will 
you?" 


tbe  Bar  225 

"Trunk?"  echoed  Allison. 

"  Sure, "  smiled  the  young  man.  "  My  instructions 
were  to  stay  if  I  saw  any  hope,  so  I  brought  along  my 
trunk.  I'm  always  looking  for  a  chance  to  hope,  and 
I've  discovered  that  it's  one  of  the  very  best  ways  to 
find  it." 

The  nurse  had  hastened  away  upon  her  errand. 
The  new  element  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  sick  room 
had  subtly  affected  her,  also. 

"Don't  fence,"  Allison  was  saying,  huskily.  "I've 
.asked  so  much  that  I've  quit  asking. " 

The  young  man  nodded  complete  understanding. 
'"I  know.  The  mossbacks  sit  around  and  look  wise, 
and  expect  to  work  miracles  on  a  patient  who  doesn't 
know  what  they're  doing  and  finally  gets  the  impres 
sion  that  he  isn't  considered  fit  to  know.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  disparage  the  pioneers  of  our  noble  profes 
sion,  but  I'm  modest  enough  to  admit  that  I  need 
help,  and  the  best  help,  every  time,  comes  from  the 
patient  himself." 

He  drew  up  his  chair  beside  the  bed  and  sat  down. 
Allison's  eager  eyes  did  not  swerve  from  his  face. 

"Mind  you,"  he  went  on,  "I  don't  promise  any 
thing — I  can't,  conscientiously.  In  getting  a  carriage 
out  of  the  mud,  more  depends  upon  the  horse  than  on 
the  driver.  Nature  will  have  to  do  the  work — I  can't. 
All  I  can  do  is  to  guide  her  gently.  If  she's  pushed,  she 
gets  balky.  Maybe  there's  something  ahead  of  her 
that  I  don't  see,  and  there's  no  use  spurring  her  ahead 
when  she's  got  to  stop  and  get  her  breath  before  she 
can  go  up  hill. 

"That  hand  can't  heal  itself  without  good  blood  to 
draw  upon,  and  good  material  to  make  bone  and  nerve 
of,  so  we'll  begin  to  stoke  up,  gradually,  and  mean- 
is 


226  ©lfc  tRose  anfc  Silver 

while,  I'll  camp  right  here  and  see  what's  doing.  And 
if  you  can  bring  yourself  to  sort  of — well,  sing  at  your 
work,  you  know,  it's  going  to  make  the  job  a  lot 
easier." 

Allison  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  "You  give  me 
hope,"  he  said. 

"  Sure, "  returned  the  young  man,  with  an  infectious 
laugh.  "A  young  surgeon  never  has  much  else  when 
he  starts,  nor  for  some  time  to  come.  Want  to  sit 
up?" 

"Why,"  Allison  breathed,  in  astonishment,  "I 
can't." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"Everybody.  They  all  said  I  must  lie  perfectly 
still." 

"Of  course,"  mused  the  young  man,  aloud,  "blood 
may  move  around  all  right  of  itself,  and  then  again,  it 
may  not.  Wouldn't  do  any  harm  to  stir  it  up  a  bit 
and  remind  the  red  corpuscles  not  to  loaf  on  the 
job." 

The  nurse  came  back,  to  say  that  the  trunk  would 
be  up  immediately. 

"Good.  Can  I  have  a  bunk  in  the  next  room?" 
Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  requested  raw 
eggs  and  milk,  beaten  up  with  a  little  cream  and 
sherry. 

While  Allison  was  drinking  it,  he  moved  a  big  easy 
chair  up  near  the  window,  opened  every  shutter  wide, 
and  let  the  hot  sun  stream  into  the  room.  He  ex- 
peditiously  made  a  sling  for  the  injured  hand,  slipped 
it  painlessly  into  place,  put  a  strong  arm  under  Al 
lison's  shoulders,  and  lifted  him  to  a  sitting  posture 
on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "Now  then,  forward,  march! 
Just  lean  on  me." 


©per  tbe  Bar  227 

Muscles  long  unused  trembled  under  the  strain  but 
finally  he  made  the  harbour  of  the  easy  chair,  gasping 
for  breath.  "Good,"  said  the  young  man.  "At  this 
rate,  we'll  soon  have  clothes  on  us  and  be  outdoors." 

"Really?"  asked  Allison,  scarcely  daring  to  believe 
his  ears. 

"Sure,"  replied  the  marvellous  young  man,  con 
fidently.  "What's  the  use  of  keeping  a  whole  body 
in  the  house  on  account  of  one  hand?  I'm  going  to  tell 
you  just  one  thing  more,  then  we'll  quit  talking  shop 
and  proceed  to  politics  or  anything  else  you  like. 

"I  knew  a  man  once  who  was  a  trapeze  performer 
in  a  circus  and  he  was  training  his  son  in  the  same 
lofty  profession.  The  boy  insisted  that  he  couldn't 
do  it,  and  finally  the  man  said  to  him:  'Look  here, 
kid,  if  you'll  put  your  heart  over  the  bar,  your  body 
will  follow  all  right,'  and  sure  enough  it  did.  Now 
you  get  your  heart  over  the  bar,  and  trust  your  hand 
to  follow.  Get  the  idea  ?  " 

The  sound  of  the  piano  below  chimed  in  with  the 
answer.  A  rippling,  laughing  melody  danced  up  the 
stairs  and  into  the  room.  The  young  man  listened  a 
moment,  then  asked,  "Who?" 

"A  friend  of  mine — my  very  dearest  friend." 

"More  good  business.  I  think  I'll  go  down  and 
talk  to  her.  What's  her  name?" 

"Rose." 

"What's  the  rest  of  it?  I  can't  start  in  that  way, 
you  know.  Bad  form. " 

"Bernard — Rose  Bernard. " 

As  quickly  and  silently  as  he  did  everything  else, 
the  young  man  went  down-stairs,  and  the  piano 
stopped,  but  only  for  a  moment,  as  he  requested  her, 
with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand,  not  to  mind  him. 


228  ©tt>  IRose  anfc  Silver 

When  she  finished  the  old  song  she  was  playing,  he 
called  her  by  name,  introduced  himself,  and  invited 
her  out  into  the  garden,  because,  as  he  said,  "walls  not 
only  have  ears,  but  telephones." 

"Say,"  he  began,  by  way  of  graceful  preliminary, 
"you  look  to  me  as  though  you  had  sense." 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  demurely. 

"Sense,"  he  resumed,  "is  lamentably  scarce,  espe 
cially  the  variety  misnamed  common — or  even  horse. 
I'm  no  mental  healer,  nor  anything  of  that  sort,  you 
know,  but  it's  reasonable  to  suppose  that  if  the  mind 
can  control  the  body,  after  a  fashion,  when  the  body  is 
well,  it's  entitled  to  some  show  when  the  body  isn't 
well,  don't  you  think  so?" 

Rose  assented,  though  she  did  not  quite  grasp 
what  he  said.  His  all-pervading  breeziness  affected 
her  much  as  it  had  Allison. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  "I'm  not  unprofessional 
enough  to  knock  anybody,  but  I  gather  that  there's 
been  a  procession  of  undertakers  down  here  making 
that  poor  chap  upstairs  think  there's  no  chance.  I'm 
not  saying  that  there  is,  but  there's  no  reason  why  we 
shouldn't  trot  along  until  we  have  to  stop.  It  isn't 
necessary  to  amputate  just  yet,  and  until  it  is  neces 
sary,  there's  nothing  to  hinder  us  from  working  like 
the  devil  to  save  him  from  it,  is  there?" 

"Surely  not." 

"All  right.    Are  you  in  on  it?" 

"I'm  'in,'  '  replied  Rose,  slowly,  "on  anything 
and  everything  that  human  power  can  do,  day  or 
night,  until  we  come  to  the  last  ditch." 

"Good  for  you.  I'll  appoint  you  first  lieutenant. 
I  guess  that  nurse  is  all  right,  though  she  doesn't 
seem  to  be  unduly  optimistic." 


tbe  Bar 


"She's  had  nothing  to  make  her  so.  Everything 
has  been  discouraging  so  far.  " 

"Plenty  of  discouragement  in  the  world,"  he  ob 
served,  "handed  out  free  of  charge,  without  paying 
people  to  bring  it  into  the  house  when  you're  peevish.  " 

"Very  true,"  she  answered,  then  her  eyes  filled. 
"Oh,"  she  breathed,  with  white  lips,  "if  you  can  —  if 
you  only  can  -  " 

"We'll  have  a  try  for  it,"  he  said,  then  continued, 
kindly:  "No  salt  water  upstairs,  you  know." 

"I  know,"  she  sighed,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"Then  '  on  with  the  dance  —  let  joy  be  unconfmed.  '  " 

Rose  obediently  went  back  to  the  piano.  The 
arrival  of  the  trunk  and  the  composition  of  a  hopeful 
telegram  to  Colonel  Kent  occupied  the  resourceful 
visitor  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes.  Then  he  went  back 
to  his  patient,  who  had  already  begun  to  miss  him. 

"You  forgot  to  tell  me  your  name,"  Allison 
suggested. 

"Sure  enough.  Call  me  Jack,  or  Doctor  Jack, 
when  I'm  not  here  and  have  to  be  called.  " 

"But,  as  you  said  yourself  a  few  minutes  ago,  I 
can't  begin  that  way.  What's  the  rest  of  it?" 

"If  you'll  listen,"  responded  the  young  man, 
solemnly,  "  I  will  unfold  before  your  eyes  the  one  blot 
upon  the  'scutcheon  of  my  promising  career.  My  full 
name  is  Jonathan  Ebenezer  Middlekauffer.  " 

"What  —  how  —  I  mean  —  excuse  me,"  stammered 
Allison. 

The  young  man  laughed  joyously.  "  You  can  search 
me,"  he  answered,  with  a  shrug.  "The  gods  must 
have  been  in  a  sardonic  mood  about  the  time  I 
arrived  to  gladden  this  sorrowful  sphere.  I've  never 
used  more  of  it  than  I  could  help,  and  everybody  called 


230  ©l&  TRose  anb  Silver 

me  'Jem'  until  I  went  to  college,  the  initials  making  a 
shorter  and  more  agreeable  name.  But  before  I'd 
been  there  a  week,  I  was  'Jemima'  or  'Aunt  Jemima' 
to  the  whole  class.  So  I  changed  it  myself,  though  it 
took  a  thrashing  to  make  two  or  three  of  'em  remem 
ber  that  my  name  was  Jack. " 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  here?"  queried 
Allison,  without  much  interest. 

"The  man  who  was  down  here  on  the  fifth  sent  me. 
He  told  me  about  you  and  suggested  that  my  existence 
might  be  less  wearing  if  I  had  something  to  do.  He 
just  passed  along  his  instructions  and  faded  gracefully 
out  of  sight,  saying:  'You'd  better  go,  Middlekauffer, 
as  your  business  seems  to  be  the  impossible,'  so  I 
packed  up  and  took  the  first  train." 

"What  did  he  mean  by  saying  that  your  business 
was  impossible?" 

"Not  impossible,  but  the  impossible.  Good  Heav 
ens,  man,  don't  get  things  mixed  like  that!  All  he 
meant  was  that  such  small  reputation  as  I  have  been 
able  to  acquire  was  earned  by  doing  jobs  that  the 
other  fellows  shirked.  I'm  ambidextrous, "  he  added, 
modestly,  "and  I  guess  that  helps  some.  Let's  play 
piquet." 

When  Rose  came  up,  an  hour  or  so  later,  they  were 
absorbed  in  their  game,  and  did  not  see  her  until  she 
spoke.  She  was  overjoyed  to  see  Allison  sitting  up, 
but,  observing  that  she  was  not  especially  needed, 
invented  a  plausible  errand  and  said  good-bye, 
promising  to  come  the  next  day. 

"Nice  girl,"  remarked  Doctor  Jack,  shuffling  the 
cards  for  Allison.  "  Mighty  nice  girl. " 

"My  future  wife,"  answered  Allison,  proudly, 
forgetting  his  promise. 


<S>x>er  tBc  J3ar  231 

"More  good  business.  You'd  be  a  brute  if  you 
didn't  save  that  hand  for  her.  She's  entitled  to  the 
best  that  you  can  give  her. " 

"And  she  shall  have  it,"  returned  Allison. 

Doctor  Jack's  quick  ears  noted  a  new  determination 
in  the  voice,  that  only  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
weak  and  wavering,  and  he  nodded  his  satisfaction 
across  the  card  table. 

That  night,  while  Allison  slept  soundly,  and  the 
nurse  also,  having  been  told  that  she  was  off  duty 
until  called,  the  young  man  recklessly  burned  gas  in 
the  next  room,  with  pencil  and  paper  before  him. 
First,  he  carefully  considered  the  man  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal,  then  mapped  out  a  line  of  treatment, 
complete  to  the  last  detail. 

"There,"  he  said  to  himself,  "by  that  we  stand  or 
fall." 

The  clocks  struck  three,  but  the  young  man  still  sat 
there,  oblivious  to  his  surroundings,  or  to  the  fact  that 
even  strong  and  healthy  people  occasionally  need  a 
little  sleep.  At  last  a  smile  lighted  up  his  face. 
"  What  fun  it  would  be, "  he  thought,  "for  him  to  give 
a  special  concert,  and  invite  every  blessed  mossback 
who  said  '  impossible ! '  It  wouldn't  please  me  or  any 
thing,  would  it,  to  stand  at  the  door  and  see  'em  come 
in?  Oh,  no!" 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  next  room,  and  Allison  called 
him,  softly. 

"Yes?"  It  was  only  a  word,  but  the  tone,  as 
always,  was  vibrant  with  good  cheer. 

"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you,"  Allison  said,  "that  my 
heart  is  over  the  bar. " 

In  the  dark,  the  two  men's  hands  met.  "More 
good  business,"  commented  Doctor  Jack.  "Just 


IRose  ant>  Silver 


remember  what  somebody  said  of  Columbus:  'One 
day,  with  life  and  hope  and  heart,  is  time  enough  to 
find  a  world.  '  Go  to  sleep  now.  I'll  see  you  in  the 
morning.  " 

"All  right,"  Allison  returned,  but  he  did  not  sleep, 
even  after  certain  low  sounds  usually  associated  with 
comfortable  slumber  came  from  the  doctor's  room. 
He  lay  there,  waiting  happily,  while  from  far,  mys 
terious  sources,  life  streamed  into  him,  as  the  sap 
rises  into  the  trees  at  the  call  of  Spring.  Across  the 
despairing  darkness,  a  signal  had  been  flashed  to  him, 
and  he  was  answering  it,  in  every  fibre  of  body  and 
soul. 


XX 
TRfecn  from  tbe  IDeafc 

COLONEL  KENT,  in  a  distant  structure  which,  by 
courtesy,  was  called  "the  hotel,"  had  pushed  away 
his  breakfast  untasted,  save  for  a  small  portion  of  the 
nondescript  fluid  the  frowsy  waitress  called  "coffee." 
He  had  been  delayed,  missed  his  train  at  the  junction 
point,  and,  fretting  with  impatience,  had  been  obliged 
to  pass  the  night  there. 

He  had  wired  to  Madame  Francesca  the  night 
before,  but,  as  yet,  had  received  no  answer.  He  had 
personally  consulted  every  surgeon  of  prominence  in 
the  surrounding  country,  and  all  who  would  not  say 
flatly,  without  further  information  than  he  could  give 
them,  that  there  was  no  chance,  had  been  asked  to  go 
and  see  for  themselves. 

One  by  one,  their  reports  came  back  to  him, 
unanimously  hopeless.  Heartsick  and  discouraged, 
he  rallied  from  each  disappointment,  only  to  face 
defeat  again.  He  had  spent  weeks  in  fruitless  journey 
ing,  followed  up  every  clue  that  presented  itself, 
waited  days  at  hospitals  for  chiefs  of  staff,  and  made 
the  dreary  round  of  newspaper  offices,  where  know 
ledge  of  every  conceivable  subject  is  supposedly  upon 
file  for  the  asking. 

One  enterprising  editor,  too  modern  to  be  swayed 
by  ordinary  human  instincts,  had  turned  the  Colonel 

233 


234 

over  to  the  star  reporter — a  young  man  with  eyes  like 
Allison's.  By  well-timed  questions  and  sympathetic 
offers  of  assistance,  he  dragged  the  whole  story  of  his 
wanderings  from  the  unsuspecting  old  soldier. 

It  made  a  double  page  in  the  Sunday  edition,  in 
cluding  the  illustrations — a  "human  interest"  story 
of  unquestionable  value,  introduced  by  a  screaming 
headline  in  red:  "Old  Soldier  on  the  March  to  Save 
Son.  Violinist  about  to  Lose  Hand. " 

When  the  Colonel  saw  it,  his  eyes  rilled  so  that  he 
could  not  see  the  words  that  danced  through  the  mist, 
and  the  paper  trembled  from  his  hands  to  the  floor. 
He  was  too  nearly  heartbroken  to  be  angry,  and  too 
deeply  hurt  to  take  heed  of  the  last  stab. 

No  word  reached  him  until  late  at  night,  when  he 
arrived  at  the  metropolitan  hotel  that  he  had  made  his 
headquarters.  When  he  registered,  two  telegrams 
were  handed  to  him,  and  he  tore  them  open  eagerly. 
The  first  was  from  Madame  Francesca: 

"Slight  change  for  the  better.  New  man  gives 
hope.  Better  return  at  once. " 

The  second  one  was  wholly  characteristic : 

"Willing  to  take  chance.  Am  camping  on  job. 
Come  home . "  It  was  signed :  "  J .  E .  Middlekauff er . ' ' 

When  he  got  to  his  room,  the  Colonel  sat  down  to 
think.  He  knew  no  one  of  that  name — had  never  even 
heard  it  before.  Perhaps  Francesca — it  would  have 
been  like  her,  to  work  with  him  and  say  nothing  until 
she  had  something  hopeful  to  say. 

His  heart  warmed  toward  her,  then  he  forgot  her 
entirely  in  a  sudden  realisation  of  the  vast  meaning 
of  the  two  bits  of  yellow  paper.  Why,  it  was  hope;  it 
was  a  fighting  chance  presenting  itself  where  hitherto 
had  been  only  despair!  He  could  scarcely  believe  it. 


•Risen  from  tbe  2>eafc  235 

He  took  the  two  telegrams  closer  to  the  light,  and 
read  the  blessed  words  over  and  over  again,  then, 
trembling  with  weakness  and  something  more,  tottered 
back  to  his  chair. 

Until  then,  he  had  not  known  how  weary  he  was, 
nor  how  the  long  weeks  of  anxiety  and  fruitless  effort 
had  racked  him  to  the  soul.  As  one  may  bear  a  burden 
bravely,  yet  faint  the  moment  it  is  lifted,  his  strength 
failed  him  in  the  very  hour  that  he  had  no  need  of  it. 
He  sat  there  for  a  long  time  before  he  was  able  to  shut 
off  the  light  and  creep  into  bed,  with  his  tear-wet 
cheek  pillowed  upon  one  telegram,  and  a  wrinkled 
hand  closely  clasping  the  other,  as  though  holding 
fast  to  the  message  meant  the  keeping  of  the  hope  it 
brought. 

Utterly  exhausted,  he  slept  until  noon.  When  he 
wcke,  it  was  with  the  feeling  that  something  vitally 
important  had  happened.  He  could  not  remember 
what  it  was  until  he  heard  the  rustling  of  paper  and 
saw  the  two  telegrams.  He  read  them  once  more, 
in  the  clear  light  of  day,  fearing  to  find  the  message 
but  a  fantasy  of  the  night.  To  his  unbounded  relief, 
it  was  still  there — no  dream  of  water  to  the  man 
dying  of  thirst,  but  a  living  reality  that  sunlight 
did  not  change. 

"Thank  God,"  he  cried  aloud,  sobbing  for  very 
joy,  "Thank  God!" 

Meanwhile,  the  Resourceful  One  had  shown  the 
nurse  how  to  cut  a  sleeve  out  of  one  of  Allison's  old 
coats,  and  open  the  under-arm  seam.  Having  done 
this,  she  was  requested  to  treat  a  negligee  shirt  in  the 
same  way.  Then  the  village  barber  was  sent  for,  and 
instructed  to  do  his  utmost. 


236  ©lt>  TRose  ant>  Silver 

"Funny,"  remarked  Doctor  Jack,  pensively,  "that 
nobody  has  thought  of  doing  that  before.  If  I  hadn't 
come  just  as  I  did,  you'd  soon  have  looked  like  a 
chimpanzee,  and,  eventually,  you'd  have  been  beyond 
the  reach  of  anything  but  a  lawn-mower.  They 
didn't  even  think  to  braid  your  hair  and  tie  it  with  a 
blue  ribbon." 

The  nurse  laughed;  so  did  Allison,  but  the  pensive 
expression  of  the  young  man's  face  did  not  change. 

"I've  had  occasion  lately,"  he  continued,  "to  ob 
serve  the  powerful  tonic  effect  of  clothes.  A  woman 
patient  told  me  once  that  the  moral  support  afforded 
by  a  well-fitting  corset  was  inconceivable  to  the  mind 
of  a  mere  man.  She  said  that  a  corset  is  to  a  woman 
what  a  hat  is  to  a  man — it  prepares  for  any  emergency, 
enables  one  to  meet  life  on  equal  terms,  and  even  to 
face  a  rebellious  cook  or  janitor  with  'that  repose 
which  marks  the  caste  of  Vere  de  Vere. ' 

"I've  often  wondered,"  returned  Allison,  "why  I 
felt  so  much — well,  so  much  more  adequate  with  my 
hat  on." 

"Clear  case  of  inherited  instincts.  The  wild  dog 
used  to  make  himself  a  smooth  bed  in  the  rushes  of 
long  grass  by  turning  around  several  times  upon  the 
selected  spot.  Consequently,  the  modern  dog  has  to 
do  the  same  stunt  before  he  can  go  to  sleep.  The  hat 
is  a  modification  of  the  helmet,  which  always  had  to  be 
worn  outside  the  house,  in  the  days  when  hold-ups 
and  murders  were  even  more  frequent  than  now,  and 
the  desire  for  a  walking-stick  comes  from  the  old 
fashion  of  carrying  a  spear  or  a  sword.  If  a  man  took 
off  his  helmet,  it  was  equivalent  to  saying:  'In  the 
presence  of  my  friend,  I  am  safe. '  When  he  takes  off 
his  hat  to  a  lady  now,  he  merely  means:  'You're  not  a 


IRisen  from  tbe  2>ea&  237 

voter. '  You'll  notice  that  in  any  gathering  of  men, 
helmets  are  still  worn. " 

So  he  chattered,  with  apparent  unconcern,  but,  none 
the  less,  he  was  keenly  watching  his  patient.  With 
tact  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  diplomat, 
he  kept  the  conversation  in  agreeable  channels.  By 
noon,  Allison  had  his  clothes  on,  the  coat  being  pinned 
under  the  left  arm  with  two  safety  pins  that  did  not 
show,  and  was  out  upon  an  upper  veranda. 

Doctor  Jack  encouraged  him  to  walk  whenever  he 
felt  that  he  could,  even  though  it  was  only  to  the 
other  end  of  the  veranda  and  back  to  his  chair.  Some 
what  to  his  astonishment,  Allison  began  to  feel 
better. 

"I  believe  you're  a  miracle-worker,"  he  said. 
"Two  days  ago,  I  was  in  bed,  with  neither  strength, 
ambition,  nor  hope.  Now  I've  got  all  three." 

' '  No  miracle, ' '  replied  the  other  modestly.  ' '  Merely 
sense." 

That  afternoon  the  Crosby  twins  telephoned  to 
know  whether  they  might  call,  and  the  nurse  brought 
the  query  upstairs.  "If  they're  amusing,"  said  the 
Doctor,  "let  'em  come." 

Allison  replied  that  the  twins  had  been  highly 
amusing — until  they  ran  "The  Yellow  Peril"  over  his 
left  hand.  "Poor  little  devils,"  he  mused;  "they've 
got  something  on  their  minds." 

"Mighty  lucky  for  you  that  it  wasn't  a  macadam 
ised  boulevard  instead  of  a  sandy  country  road," 
observed  the  Doctor.  "The  softness  underneath  has 
given  us  a  doubt  to  work  on." 

"How  so?" 

"It's  easier  to  crush  anything  on  a  hard  surface 
than  it  is  on  a  pillow,  isn't  it?" 


©to  IRose  attt  Silver 


"  Of  course  —  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  If  there  had 
been  more  sand  -  " 

"I  look  to  you  to  furnish  that,"  returned  the  other 
with  a  quick  twist  of  meaning.  "You've  got  plenty 
of  sand,  if  you  have  half  a  chance  to  show  it.  " 

"How  long  —  when  do  you  think  you'll  know?" 
Allison  asked,  half  afraid  of  the  answer. 

"If  I  knew,  I'd  be  glad  to  tell  you,  but  I  don't. 
I've  found  out  that  it's  easier  to  say  'I  don't  know' 
straight  out  in  plain  English  than  it  is  to  side-track. 
It  used  to  be  bad  form,  professionally,  to  admit 
ignorance,  but  it  isn't  now.  People  soon  find  it  out 
and  you  might  as  well  tell  'em  at  the  start.  You  just 
go  on  and  keep  the  fuel  bins  well  supplied  and  the  red 
corpuscles  busy  and  pretty  soon  we'll  see  what's 
doing.  " 

The  twins  were  late  in  coming,  because  they  had 
had  a  long  discussion  as  to  the  propriety  of  wearing 
their  sable  garments.  Romeo,  disliking  the  trouble  of 
changing,  argued  that  Allison  ought  to  see  that  their 
grief  was  sincere.  Juliet  insisted  that  the  sight  would 
prove  depressing. 

At  the  end  of  a  lively  hour,  they  compromised 
upon  white,  which  was  worn  by  people  in  mourning 
and  was  not  depressing.  Juliet  donned  a  muslin 
gown  and  Romeo  put  on  his  tennis  flannels,  which 
happened  to  be  clean.  As  they  took  pains  to  walk 
upon  the  grass  and  avoid  the  dusty  places,  they  were 
comparatively  fresh  when  they  arrived,  though  very 
warm  from  the  long  walk. 

Both  had  inexpressibly  dreaded  seeing  Allison,  yet 
the  reality  lacked  the  anticipated  terror,  as  often 
happens.  They  liked  Doctor  Jack  immensely  from 
the  start  and  were  greatly  relieved  to  see  Allison  up 


"Risen  from  tbe  IDeaO      239 

and  outdoors,  instead  of  lying  in  a  darkened 
room. 

Almost  before  they  knew  it,  they  were  describing 
their  sacrificial  rites  and  their  repentance,  with  a 
wealth  of  detail  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
Doctor  Jack  was  suddenly  afflicted  with  a  very  bad 
cough,  but  he  kept  his  back  to  them  and  used  his 
handkerchief  a  great  deal.  Even  Allison  was  amused 
by  their  austere  young  faces  and  the  earnest  devotion 
with  which  they  had  performed  their  penance. 

"We've  had  your  car  fixed,"  said  Romeo.  "It's 
all  right  now." 

"We've  paid  the  bill, "  added  Juliet. 

"We  want  to  pay  everything,"  Romeo  continued. 

"Everything,"  she  echoed. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  want  the  car,"  Allison  an 
swered,  kindly.  "  If  I  had  been  a  good  driver,  I  could 
have  backed  into  the  turn  before  you  got  there  and 
let  you  whiz  by.  I'm  sorry  yours  is  burned.  Won't 
you  take  mine?" 

"No,"  answered  Romeo,  with  finality. 

"We  don't  deserve  even  to  ride  in  one,"  Juliet 
remarked.  "We  ought  to  have  to  walk  all  the  rest  of 
our  lives. " 

"You  people  make  me  tired,"  interrupted  Doctor 
Jack.  "Just  because  you've  been  mixed  up  in  an 
accident,  you're  about  to  get  yourselves  locoed,  as 
they  say  out  West,  on  the  subject  of  automobiles. 
By  careful  cultivation,  you  could  learn  to  shy  at  a 
baby  carriage  and  throw  a  fit  at  the  sight  of  a  wheel 
barrow.  The  time  to  nip  that  is  right  at  the  start. " 

"How  would  you  do  it?"  queried  Allison.  His 
heart  was  heavy  with  dread  of  all  automobiles,  past, 
present,  and  to  come. 


©15  TRose  ant)  Silver 

"  Same  way  they  break  a  colt.  Get  him  used  to  the 
harness,  then  to  shafts,  and  so  on.  Now,  I  can  run 
any  car  that  ever  was  built — make  it  stand  on  its 
hind  wheels  if  I  want  to  and  roll  through  a  crowd 
without  making  anybody  even  wink  faster.  I  think 
I'll  go  out  and  get  that  one  and  take  the  whole  bunch 
of  you  out  for  a  cure. " 

Juliet  was  listening  attentively,  with  her  blue  eyes 
wide  open  and  her  scarlet  lips  parted.  Doctor  Jack 
was  subtly  conscious  of  a  new  sensation. 

"I  see,"  she  said.  "Romie  made  me  hold  snakes 
by  their  tails  until  I  wasn't  afraid  of  'em,  and  made 
me  kill  mice  and  even  rats.  Only  sissy  girls  are  afraid 
of  snakes  and  rats.  And  just  because  we  were  both 
afraid  to  go  by  the  graveyard  at  night,  we  made  our 
selves  do  it.  We  can  walk  through  it  now,  even  if 
there  isn't  any  moon,  and  never  dodge  a  single 
tombstone." 

"Was  it  hard  to  learn  to  do  it?"  asked  the  doctor. 
If  he  was  amused,  he  did  not  show  it  now. 

"  No, "  Juliet  answered,  "because  just  before  we  did 
it,  we  read  about  it's  being  called  '  God's  Acre. '  So  I 
told  Romie  that  God  must  be  there  as  much  or  more 
than  He  was  anywhere  else,  so  how  could  we  be 
afraid?" 

"After  you  once  get  it  into  your  head  that  God  is 
everywhere,"  added  Romeo,  "you  can't  be  afraid 
because  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. " 

The  simple,  child-like  faith  appealed  to  both  men 
strongly.  Allison  was  much  surprised,  for  he  had 
not  imagined  that  there  was  a  serious  side  to  the 
twins. 

"Will  you  forgive  us?"  asked  Juliet,  humbly. 

"Please,"  added  Romeo. 


•Risen  from  tbe  2>ea&  241 

"With  all  my  heart,"  Allison  responded,  readily. 
"I've  never  thought  there  was  anything  to  forgive." 

"Then  our  sacrifice  is  over,"  cried  Juliet,  joyously. 

"Yes,"  her  brother  agreed,  with  a  wistful  expres 
sion  on  his  face,  "and  to-night  we  can  have  something 
to  eat. " 

The  twins  never  lingered  long  after  the  object  of  a 
visit  was  accomplished,  so  they  rose  almost  im 
mediately  to  take  their  departure.  "Cards,  Romie," 
Juliet  suggested,  in  an  audible  whisper. 

Romeo  took  a  black-bordered  envelope  from  an 
inner  pocket  and  gravely  extended  a  card  to  each. 
Then  they  bowed  themselves  out,  resisting  with 
difficulty  the  temptation  to  slide  down  the  banister 
instead  of  going  down-stairs  two  steps  at  a  time. 

Doctor  Jack's  mobile  face  had  assumed  an  entirely 
new  expression.  He  put  away  the  card  inscribed  The 
Crosby  Twins  as  though  it  were  an  article  of  great 
value,  then  leaned  out  over  the  veranda  railing  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  two  flying  figures  in  white. 

"Upon  my  word!"  he  exclaimed. 

Allison  laughed  aloud.  "You're  not  disappointed, 
in  the  twins,  are  you?" 

"If  I  were  going  to  be  run  over,"  remarked  the 
Doctor,  ignoring  the  question,  "I  believe  I'd  choose 
them  to  do  it.  Think  of  the  little  pagans  burning 
their  car  and  repenting  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  not  to 
mention  shooting  the  dogs  and  living  upon  penitential 
fare." 

"Poor  kids, "  Allison  said,  with  a  sigh. 

' '  Tell  me  about  'em, "  pleaded  Doctor  Jack.  ' '  Tell 
me  everything  you  know  about  'em,  especially 
Juliet." 

"I  don't  know  much,"  replied  the  other,  "for  I 

16 


C42  ©lt>  TCose  ant>  Silver 

came  back  here  only  a  few  months  ago,  and  when  I 
went  abroad,  they  were  merely  enfants  terribles  im 
perfectly  controlled  by  a  pair  of  doting  parents." 

However,  he  gladly  told  what  he  knew  of  the  varied 
exploits  of  the  twins,  and  his  eager  listener  absorbed 
every  word.  At  length  when  Allison  could  think  of  no 
more,  and  the  afternoon  shadows  grew  long,  they 
went  in. 

Consigning  his  patient  to  the  care  of  the  nurse,  the 
Doctor  went  down  into  the  garden,  to  walk  back  and 
forth  upon  the  long  paths,  gaze,  open-mouthed,  down 
the  road,  and  moon,  like  the  veriest  schoolboy,  over 
Juliet's  blue  eyes. 

Her  pagan  simplicity,  her  frank  boyishness,  and  her 
absolute  unconsciousness  of  self,  appealed  to  him 
irresistibly.  "The  dear  kid,"  he  said  to  himself, 
fondly;  "the  blessed  little  kid!  Wonder  how  old  she 
is!" 

Then  he  remembered  that  Allison  had  told  him  the 
twins  were  almost  twenty-one,  but  Juliet  seemed 
absurdly  young  for  her  years.  "The  world  will  take 
her,"  he  sighed  to  himself,  "and  change  her  in  a  little 
while  so  even  her  own  brother  won't  know  her.  She'll 
lace,  and  wear  high  heels  and  follow  the  latest  fashion 
whether  it  suits  her  or  not,  and  touch  up  her  pretty 
cheeks  with  rouge,  twist  her  hair  into  impossi 
ble  coiffures,  and  learn  all  the  wicked  ways  of  the 
world." 

The  wavy  masses  of  tawny  hair,  the  innocent  blue 
eyes,  as  wide  and  appealing  as  a  child's,  the  clear, 
rosy  skin,  and  the  parted  scarlet  lips — all  these  would 
soon  be  spoiled  by  the  thousand  deceits  of  fashion. 

"And  I  can't  help  it,"  he  thought,  sadly.  Then 
his  face  brightened.  "By  George,"  he  said  aloud. 


TRisen  from  tDe  Deao  243 

"I'm  only  twenty-eight — wonder  if  the  kid  could 
learn  to  stand  me  around  the  house."  He  laughed, 
from  sheer  joy.  "I'll  have  a  try  for  her,"  he  con 
tinued  to  himself.  "  Me  for  Juliet,  and,  if  the  gods  are 
kind,  Juliet  for  me!" 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
the  station  hack.  He  instantly  surmised  that  the  man 
who  hurried  toward  the  house  was  Colonel  Kent,  and, 
on  the  veranda,  intercepted  him. 

"Colonel  Kent?" 

"Yes.    Doctor ? 

"  Middlekauffer,  for  purposes  of  introduction.  For 
purposes  of  conversation,  '  Doctor  Jack,'  or  just  plain 
'Jack.'  Never  cared  much  for  handles  to  names. 
You  got  my  wire?" 

"Yes.    Who  sent  you  here?" 

"Forbes.  Down  here  on  the  fifth.  Met  him  out 
in  the  next  State,  at  an  operation.  He  told  me  to 
come,  as  my  business  was  the  impossible.  Told  me 
you'd  stand  for  it,  don't  you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing?" 

"  I 'm  very  glad.    How  is  he?  " 

"Doing  very  nicely,  all  things  considered." 

"Is  there  a  chance?"  the  Colonel  cried  eagerly; 
"a  real  chance?" 

"My  dear  man,  until  amputation  is  the  only  thing 
to  be  done,  there's  always  a  chance.  Personally,  I'm 
very  hopeful,  though  I've  been  called  a  dreamer  more 
than  once.  But  we've  got  him  chirked  up  a  lot,  and 
he's  getting  his  nerve  back,  and  this  morning  I  thought 
I  detected  a  slight  improvement,  though  I  was  afraid 
to  tell  him  so.  We've  all  got  to  work  for  him  and  work 
like  the  devil  at  that. " 

"If  work  will  do  it " 


244  ©fo  ttose  an& 

"Nothing  worth  while  is  ever  done  without  work. 
Go  up  and  see  him. " 

At  the  sound  of  a  familiar  step  upon  the  stair, 
Allison  turned  deathly  white.  He  waited,  scarcely 
daring  to  breathe,  until  the  half-closed  door  opened, 
and  his  father  stood  before  him,  smiling  in  welcome. 
Allison  sprang  forward,  unbelieving,  until  his  hand 
touched  his  father's,  not  cold,  as  though  he  had  risen 
from  the  grave,  but  warmly  human  and  alive. 

"Lad,  dear  lad!    I've  come  back  at  last!" 

Allison's  answering  cry  of  joy  fairly  rang  through 
the  house.  "Dad!  Oh,  Dad!  I  thought  you  were 
dead!" 


XXI 

Save&— anD  tost. 

ALTERNATELY  possessed  by  hope  and  doubt,  the 
young  surgeon  worked  during  the  weeks  that  followed 
as  he  had  never  worked  before.  He  kept  his  doubt  to 
himself,  however,  and  passed  on  his  hope  to  the  others 
when  he  could  do  so  conscientiously.  Allison  had 
ceased  to  ask  questions,  but  eagerly  watched  the 
Doctor's  face.  He  knew,  without  being  told,  just 
when  the  outlook  was  dubious  and  when  it  was 
encouraging. 

The  Doctor  did  not  permit  either  Rose  or  Colonel 
Kent  to  hope  too  much.  Both  were  with  Allison 
constantly,  and  Madame  drove  over  three  or  four 
times  a  week.  Gradually  a  normal  atmosphere  was 
established,  and,  without  apparent  effort,  they  kept 
Allison  occupied  and  amused. 

It  seemed  only  natural  and  right  that  Rose  should 
be  there,  and  both  Allison  and  his  father  had  come 
to  depend  upon  her,  in  a  way,  as  though  she  were  the 
head  of  the  household.  The  servants  came  to  her  for 
orders,  people  who  came  to  inquire  for  Allison  asked 
for  her,  and  she  saved  the  Colonel  from  many  a 
lonely  evening  after  Allison  had  said  good-night  and 
the  Doctor  had  gone  out  for  a  long  walk  as  he  said, 
"to  clear  the  cobwebs  from  his  brain. " 

Because  of  Isabel,  whom  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
245 


846  ®l&  "Rose  anfc  Silver 

meet,  the  Colonel  did  not  go  over  to  Bernard's.  Alli 
son  had  not  alluded  to  her  in  any  way,  but  Madame 
had  told  the  Colonel  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  had 
said,  quietly:  "A  small  gain  for  so  great  a  loss,"  and 
made  no  further  comment,  yet  it  was  evident  that  he 
was  relieved. 

Rose  and  Allison  were  back  upon  their  old  friendly 
footing,  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  Never  by  word  or 
look  did  Rose  betray  herself;  never  by  the  faintest 
hint  did  Allison  suggest  that  their  relation  to  each 
other  had  in  any  way  been  changed.  He  was  frankly 
glad  to  have  her  with  him,  urged  her  to  come  earlier 
and  to  stay  later,  and  gratefully  accepted  every 
kindness  she  offered. 

Perhaps  he  had  forgotten — Rose  rather  thought  he 
had,  but  her  self-revelation  stood  before  her  always 
like  a  vivid,  scarlet  hour  in  a  procession  of  grey  days. 
Yet  the  sting  and  shame  of  it  were  curiously  absent, 
for  nothing  could  exceed  the  gentle  courtesy  and 
deference  that  Allison  instinctively  accorded  her. 
He  saw  her  always  as  a  thing  apart;  a  goddess  who, 
through  divine  pity,  had  stooped  for  an  instant  to  be 
a  woman — and  had  swiftly  returned  to  her  pedestal. 

Sustained  by  the  joy  of  service,  Rose  asked  no  more. 
Only  to  plan  little  surprises  for  him,  to  anticipate  every 
unspoken  wish,  to  keep  him  cheery  and  hopeful,  to 
read  or  play  to  him  without  being  asked — these  things 
were  as  the  life-blood  to  her  heart. 

She  had  blossomed,  too,  into  a  new  beauty.  The 
forty  years  had  put  lines  of  silver  into  her  hair,  but 
had  been  powerless  to  do  more.  Her  lovely  face, 
where  the  colour  came  and  went,  the  fleeting  dimple 
at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  and  the  crimson  curve  of 
her  lips  were  eloquent  with  the  finer,  more  subtle 


— an&  Xost  247 

charm  of  maturity.  Her  shining  eyes  literally  trans 
figured  her.  In  their  dark  depths  was  a  mysterious 
exaltation,  as  from  some  secret,  holy  rapture  too  great 
for  words. 

Allison  saw  and  felt  it,  yet  did  not  know  what  it 
was.  Once  at  sunset,  when  they  were  talking  idly  of 
other  things,  he  tried  to  express  it. 

"I  don't  know  what  it  is,  Rose,  but  there's  some 
thing  about  you  lately  that  makes  me  feel — well,  as 
though  I  were  in  a  church  at  an  Easter  service.  The 
sun  through  the  stained-glass  window,  the  blended 
fragrance  of  incense  and  lilies,  and  the  harp  and  organ 
playing  the  Intermezzo  from  Cavalleria — all  that  sort 
of  thing,  don't  you  know?" 

"Why  shouldn't  your  best  friend  be  glad,"  she  had 
answered  gently,  "when  you  have  come  to  your  own 
Easter — your  rising  from  the  dead?" 

The  dull  colour  surged  into  his  face,  then  retreated 
in  waves.  "If  you  can  be  as  glad  as  that,"  he  re 
turned,  clearing  his  throat,  "I'd  be  a  brute  ever  to  let 
myself  be  discouraged  again." 

That  night,  during  a  wakeful  hour,  his  thoughts 
went  back  to  Isabel.  For  the  first  time,  he  saw  the 
affair  in  its  true  light — a  brief,  mad  infatuation.  He 
had  responded  to  Isabel's  youth  and  beauty  and  an 
old  moonlit  garden  full  of  roses  much  as  his  violin 
answered  to  his  touch  upon  the  strings.  "Had  an 
swered,"  he  corrected  himself,  trying  not  to  flinch  at 
the  thought. 

Even  if  his  hand  should  heal,  it  was  scarcely  possible 
that  he  would  ever  play  again,  and  he  knew,  as  well  as 
anyone,  what  brilliant  promise  the  future  had  held 
for  him.  He  remembered  how  wisely  he  had  been 
trained  from  the  very  beginning;  how  Aunt  Francesca 


248  <S>U>  IRose  an&  Silver 

had  insisted  upon  mathematics,  Latin,  and  chemistry, 
as  well  as  literature,  history,  and  modern  languages. 

He  had  protested  to  her  only  once.  She  had 
replied  kindly,  but  firmly,  that  while  broad  culture 
and  liberal  education  might  not,  in  itself,  create  an 
artist,  yet  it  could  not  possibly  injure  one.  Since 
then,  he  had  seen  precocious  children,  developed  in 
one  line  at  the  expense  of  all  others,  fail  ignominiously 
in  maturity  because  there  was  no  foundation.  The 
Child  Wonder  who  had  thrilled  all  Europe  at  nine, 
by  his  unnatural  mastery  of  the  violin,  was  playing 
in  an  orchestra  in  a  Paris  cafe,  where  one  of  the 
numerous  boy  sopranos  was  the  head  waiter. 

How  disappointed  Aunt  Francesca  must  be,  even 
though  she  had  too  much  self-control  to  show  it! 
And  his  father!  Allison  swallowed  a  lump  in  his 
throat.  After  a  lifetime  of  self-sacrificing  devotion, 
the  Colonel  had  seen  all  his  efforts  fail,  but  he  had 
taken  the  blow  standing,  like  the  soldier  that  he  was. 
In  vain,  many  a  time,  Allison  had  wished  that  some  of 
his  father's  fine  -courage  might  have  been  transmitted 
to  him. 

And  Rose — dear  Rose!  How  persistently  she  held 
the  new  way  open  before  him;  how  steadily  she  in 
sisted  that  the  creative  impulse  was  higher  than 
interpretative  skill!  How  often  she  had  reminded 
him  of  Carlyle's  stirring  call:  "Produce,  produce! 
Though  it  be  but  the  merest  fraction  of  a  fragment, 
produce  it,  in  God's  name ! "  He  had  noticed  that  the 
materials  for  composition  were  always  close  at  hand, 
though  she  never  urged  him  to  work. 

He  had  come  gradually  to  depend  upon  Rose — a 
great  deal  more  than  he  realised.  Quite  often  he  per 
ceived  the  truth  of  the  saying  that  "a  blue-ribbon 


5at>e&— an&  Xost  249 

friendship  is  better  than  an  honourable  mention 
love."  It  was  evident  that  Isabel  had  never  loved 
him,  though  she  had  been  pleased  and  flattered  by 
his  love  for  her. 

Even  at  the  time  that  Aunt  Francesca  and  Rose 
had  congratulated  him,  and  he  had  kissed  them  both 
in  friendly  fashion,  he  had  taken  passing  note  of  the 
difference  between  Isabel  and  Rose.  Of  course  it  was 
only  that  Isabel  was  made  of  ice  and  Rose  of  flesh  and 
blood,  but  still,  it  was  pleasant  to  remember  that 

His  thoughts  began  to  stray  into  other  fields.  Rose 
was  his  promised  wife,  as  far  as  name  went,  yet  she 
treated  him  with  the  frank  good  comradeship  that  a 
liberal  social  code  makes  possible  between  men  and 
women.  As  far  as  Rose  was  concerned,  there  was  no 
sentiment  in  the  world. 

When  she  read  to  him,  it  was  invariably  a  story  of 
adventure  or  of  humorous  complications,  or  a  well- 
chosen  exposition  of  some  recent  advance  in  science 
or  art.  Their  conversation  was  equally  impersonal, 
even  at  the  rare  times  they  chanced  to  be  alone.  Rose 
made  Colonel  Kent,  Aunt  Francesca,  Doctor  Jack, 
and  even  the  nurse  equally  welcome  to  Allison's 
society. 

He  went  freely  from  room  to  room  on  the  upper 
floor,  but  had  not  yet  been  downstairs,  as  a  possible 
slip  on  the  steps  might  do  irreparable  injury.  Doctor 
Jack  wanted  to  get  him  downstairs  and  outdoors, 
believing  that  actual  contact  with  the  earth  is  almost 
as  good  for  people  as  it  is  for  plants,  but  saw  no  way 
to  manage  it  without  a  stretcher,  which  he  knew 
Allison  would  violently  resent. 

The  twins  came  occasionally,  by  special  invitation, 
though  nobody  noticed  that  it  was  always  Doctor 


250  ©K>  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

Jack  who  suggested  it.  Once  they  brought  a  pan  of 
Juliet's  famous  fudges,  which  were  politely  appreciated 
by  the  others  and  extravagantly  praised  by  the  Doc 
tor.  The  following  day  he  was  rewarded  by  a  private 
pan  of  especially  rich  fudges — but  Romeo  brought  it, 
on  his  way  to  the  post-office. 

There  was  a  daily  card-party  upon  the  upper 
veranda,  and  sometimes  meals  were  served  there. 
The  piano  had  been  moved  upstairs  into  a  back  room. 
The  whole-hearted  devotion  of  the  household  was 
beautiful  to  behold,  yet  underneath  it  all,  like  an 
unseen  current,  was  the  tense  strain  of  waiting. 

It  was  difficult  not  to  annoy  Doctor  Jack  with 
questions.  Rose  and  the  Colonel  continually  re 
minded  themselves  and  each  other  that  he  would  be 
only  too  glad  to  bring  encouragement  at  the  moment 
he  found  it,  and  that  by  quiet  and  patience  they  could 
help  him  most. 

Juliet  had  pleaded  earnestly  with  Doctor  Jack  to 
save  Allison's  hand.  "If  you  don't,"  she  said,  with 
uplifted  eyes,  "I'll  be  miserable  all  the  rest  of  my 
life." 

"Bless  your  little  heart, "  the  Doctor  had  answered, 
kindly;  "I'd  do  'most  anything  to  keep  you  from 
being  miserable,  even  the  impossible,  which  happens 
to  be  my  specialty. " 

She  did  not  quite  understand,  but  sent  a  burnt 
offering  to  the  Doctor,  in  the  shape  of  a  chocolate 
cake.  He  had  returned  the  compliment  by  sending 
her  the  biggest  box  of  candy  she  had  ever  seen,  and, 
as  it  arrived  about  noon,  she  and  Romeo  had  feasted 
upon  it  until  they  could  eat  no  more,  and  had  been 
uncomfortably  ill  for  two  days.  Romeo  had  attributed 
their  misfortune  to  the  candy  itself,  but  Juliet  be- 


Savefc— an&  Xost  251 

lieved  that  their  constitutions  had  been  weakened  by 
their  penitential  fare,  and,  as  soon  as  she  was  able, 
proved  her  point  by  finishing  the  last  sweet  morsel 
without  painful  results. 

The  Summer  waned  and  tints  of  palest  gold  ap 
peared  here  and  there  upon  the  maples.  The  warm 
wind  had  the  indefinable  freshness  of  the  Autumn  sea, 
blown  far  inland  at  dawn.  Allison  became  impatient 
and  restless,  the  Colonel  went  off  alone  for  long, 
moody  walks;  even  Doctor  Jack  began  to  show  the 
effects  of  the  long  strain. 

Only  Rose  was  serene.  Fortunately,  no  one  guessed 
the  tumult  that  lay  beneath  her  outward  calm.  Her 
manner  toward  Allison  was,  if  anything,  more  im 
personal  than  ever,  though  she  failed  in  no  thought 
ful  kindness,  no  possible  consideration.  He  accepted 
it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  began  to  wish,  vaguely, 
for  something  more. 

He  forebore  to  remind  her  of  their  strange  relation, 
and  could  not  allude  to  the  night  he  had  kissed  her, 
while  his  fiance'e  stood  near  by.  Yet,  late  one  after 
noon,  when  she  had  excused  herself  a  little  earlier 
than  usual,  he  called  her  back. 

"Rose?" 

"Yes?"  She  returned  quickly  and  stood  before 
him,  just  out  of  his  reach.  "What  is  it?  What  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

The  tone  was  kind  but  impersonal,  as  always. 
"Nothing,"  he  sighed,  turning  his  face  away. 

That  night  she  pondered  long.  What  could  Alli 
son  want  that  she  had  not  given?  The  blood  surged 
into  her  heart  for  an  instant,  then  retreated.  "Non 
sense,"  she  said  to  herself  in  tremulous  anger.  "It's 
impossible!" 


252  ©K>  "Rose  ant)  Silver 

Afterward  it  seemed  continually  to  happen  that  she 
was  alone  with  Allison  when  the  time  came  to  say 
good-night  and  drive  home,  or  walk,  escorted  by 
Colonel  Kent  or  the  Doctor.  By  common  consent, 
they  seemed  to  make  excuses  to  leave  the  room  as  the 
hour  of  departure  approached,  and  she  always  found 
it  easier  when  someone  was  there. 

Again,  when  she  had  made  her  adieux  and  had 
reached  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  Allison  called 
her  back. 

"Yes." 

"Couldn't  you — just  once,  you  know — for  good 
night?"  he  asked,  with  difficulty. 

His  face  made  his  meaning  clear.  Rose  bent, 
kissed  him  tenderly  upon  the  forehead,  and  quickly 
left  the  room.  Her  heart  was  beating  so  hard  that 
she  did  not  know  she  stumbled  upon  the  threshold, 
nor  did  she  hear  his  low:  "Thank  you — dear." 

That  night  she  could  not  sleep.  "I  can't,"  she 
said  to  herself,  miserably;  " I  can't  possibly  go  on,  if — 
Oh,  why  should  he  make  it  so  hard  for  me!" 

If  the  future  was  to  be  possible  on  the  lines  already 
laid  down,  he,  too,  must  keep  the  impersonal  attitude. 
Yet,  none  the  less,  she  was  conscious  of  an  uplifting 
joy  that  would  not  be  put  aside,  but  insistently 
demanded  its  right  of  expression. 

She  did  not  dare  trust  herself  to  see  Allison  again, 
and  yet  she  must.  She  could  not  fail  him  now,  when 
he  needed  her  so  much,  nor  could  she  ask  the  others  to 
see  that  they  were  not  left  alone.  One  day  might  be 
gained  for  respite  by  the  plea  of  a  headache,  which  is 
woman's  friend  as  often  as  it  is  her  enemy.  And,  after 
that  one  day,  what  then?  What  other  excuse  could 
she  make  that  would  not  seem  heartless  and  cold? 


Xost  253 

It  was  an  old  saying  of  Aunt  Francesca's  that 
"when  you  can't  see  straight  ahead,  it's  because  you're 
about  to  turn  a  corner."  She  tormented  herself 
throughout  the  night  with  futile  speculations  that  led 
to  nothing  except  the  headache  which  she  had  planned 
to  offer  as  an  excuse. 

A  brief  note  gave  her  the  day  to  herself,  and  also 
brought  flowers  from  Allison,  with  a  friendly  note  in 
his  own  hand.  Doctor  Jack  was  the  messenger  and 
took  occasion  to  offer  his  services  in  the  conquest  of 
the  headache,  but  Rose  declined  with  thanks,  sending 
down  word  that  she  preferred  to  sleep  it  off. 

Though  breakfast  might  be  a  movable  feast  at 
Madame's,  it  was  always  consistently  late.  It  was 
nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  telephone 
wakened  Madame  from  a  dreamless  sleep.  She 
listened  until  it  became  annoying,  but  no  one  answered 
it.  Finally  she  got  up,  rather  impatiently,  and  went 
to  it  herself,  anticipating  Rose  by  only  a  minute. 

Tremulous  with  suspense,  Rose  waited,  scarcely 
daring  to  breathe  until  Madame  turned  with  a  cry  of 
joy,  the  receiver  falling  from  her  nerveless  hand. 
"Rose!  Rose!  he's  saved!  Our  boy  is  saved!  He's 
saved,  do  you  understand?" 

"Truly?    Is  it  sure?" 

"Blessedly  sure!    Oh,  Rose,  he's  saved!" 

The  little  old  lady  was  sobbing  in  an  ecstasy  of  relief. 

Rose  led  her  to  a  couch  and  waited  quietly  until 
she  was  almost  calm,  then  went  back  to  her  own  room. 
Once  more  her  world  was  changed,  as  long  ago  she 
had  seen  how  it  must  be  with  her  should  the  one  thing 
happen.  She,  with  the  others,  had  hoped  and  prayed 
for  it;  her  dearest  dream  had  come  true  at  last,  and 
left  her  desolate. 


Silver 

She  was  unselfishly  glad  for  Allison,  for  the  Colonel, 
Aunt  Francesca,  Doctor  Jack,  the  sorrowing  twins, 
and,  in  a  way,  for  herself.  It  had  been  given  her  to 
serve  him,  and  she  had  not  hoped  for  more.  It  made 
things  easier  now,  though  she  had  not  thought  the 
corner  would  be  turned  in  just  this  way. 

Having  made  up  her  mind  and  completed  her  plans, 
she  went  to  Madame  as  soon  as  she  was  dressed.  She 
had  hidden  her  paleness  with  so  little  rouge  that  even 
Madame 's  keen  eyes  could  not  suspect  it. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  she  began,  without  prelimin 
ary,  "I've  got  to  go  away. " 

"Why,  dear,  and  where?    For  how  long?" 

"Because  I'm  so  tired.  Things  have  been  hard  for 
me — over  there,  lately — and  I  don't  care  where  I  go. " 

"I  see,"  returned  Madame,  tenderly.  "You  want 
to  go  away  for  a  rest.  You've  needed  it  for  a  long 
time." 

"Yes,"  Rose  nodded,  swinging  easily  into  the  lie 
that  did  not  deceive  either.  "Oh,  Aunt  Francesca, 
can  I  go  to-day?" 

"Surely — at  any  hour  you  choose." 

"And  you'll— make  it  right?" 

"Indeed  I  will.  I'll  just  say  that  you've  beea 
obliged  to  go  away  on  business — to  look  after  some 
investments  for  both  of  us,  and  I  hope  you'll  stay 
away  long  enough  to  get  the  rest  and  change  you've 
needed  for  almost  a  year." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Francesca,  how  good  you  are!  But 
where  ?  Where  shall  I  go  ?  " 

Madame  had  been  thinking  of  that.  She  knew  the 
one  place  where  Rose  could  go,  and  attain  her  balance 
in  solitude,  untroubled  by  needless  questions  or  ex 
planations.  With  the  feeling  of  the  mother  who  gives 


Savefc— an&  Xost  255 

her  dead  baby's  dainty  garments  to  a  living  child 
sorely  in  need,  she  spoke. 

"To  my  house  up  in  the  woods — the  little  house 
where  love  lived,  so  long  ago." 

Rose's  pale  lips  quivered  for  an  instant.  "What 
have  I  to  do  with  love?" 

"Go  to  the  house  where  he  lived  once,  and  perhaps 
you  may  find  out." 

"I  will — I'll  be  glad  to  go.  If  I  could  make  the 
next  train,  could  you  arrange  to  have  a  trunk  follow 
me?" 

"Of  course.  Go  on,  dear.  I  know  how  it  happens 
sometimes,  that  one  can't  stay  in  one  place  any  longer. 
I  suffered  from  wanderlust  until  I  was  almost  seventy, 
and  it's  a  long  time  since  you've  been  away. " 

"And  you'll  promise  not  to  tell  anybody?" 

"I  promise." 

While  Rose  was  packing  a  suit-case,  Madame 
brought  her  a  rusty,  old-fashioned  key,  and  a  card  on 
which  she  had  written  directions  for  the  journey. 
"I've  ordered  the  carriage,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  drive 
down  with  you  to  see  you  safely  off." 

After  the  packing  was  completed  and  while  there 
was  still  nearly  an  hour  to  wait  before  the  carriage 
would  come,  Rose  locked  her  door,  and,  after  many 
failures,  achieved  her  note: 

"  MY  DEAR  ALLISON: 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  for  you  and  how 
glad  I  shall  be  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  I've  hoped  and 
dreamed  and  prayed  from  the  very  beginning  that  it 
might  be  so,  and  I  believe  that,  in  time,  you'll  have 
back  everything  you  have  lost. 

"  Now  that  you  no  longer  need  me,  I  am  going  away 


C56  ©ID  IRose  an&  Silver 

to  attend  to  some  necessary  business  for  Aunt  Fran- 
cesca  and  myself,  and  perhaps  to  rest  a  little  while  in 
some  new  place  before  I  go  back  to  my  work. 

"Of  course  our  make-believe  engagement  expires 
automatically  now,  and  I  hope  you'll  soon  find  the 
one  woman  meant  to  make  you  happy.  I  am  glad  to 
think  that  I've  helped  you  a  little  when  you  came  to  a 
hard  place,  for  the  most  that  any  one  of  us  may  do  for 
another  is  to  smooth  the  road. 

"Remember  me  to  the  others,  say  good-bye  for  me, 
and  believe  me,  with  all  good  wishes, 

"Your  friend  always, 

"ROSE." 

When  she  sealed  and  addressed  it,  she  had  a  queer 
sense  of  closing  the  door,  with  her  own  hands,  upon 
all  the  joy  Life  might  have  in  store  for  her  in  years  to 
come.  Yet  the  past  few  weeks  were  secure,  beyond 
the  power  of  change  or  loss,  and  her  pride  was  saved. 

No  one  could  keep  her  from  loving  him,  and  the 
thought  brought  a  certain  comfort  to  her  sore  heart. 
Wherever  he  might  be  and  whatever  might  happen 
to  him,  she  could  still  love  him  from  afar,  and  have, 
for  her  very  own,  the  woman's  joy  of  utmost  giving. 

When  the  carriage  came,  she  went  down,  and  with 
out  a  word  put  her  note  into  Aunt  Francesca's  faithful 
hands.  Isabel  had  not  appeared,  fortunately,  and 
it  was  not  necessary  to  leave  any  message — Aunt 
Francesca  would  make  it  right,  as  she  always  had 
with  everybody. 

When  the  little  old  lady  lifted  her  face,  saying: 
"Good-bye,  dear,  come  back  to  me  soon,"  Rose's 
heart  misgave  her.  "I'll  stay,"  she  said,  brokenly: 
"I  won't  leave  you." 


Sax>e&— a^  Xost  257 

But  Madame  only  smiled,  and  nodded  toward  the 
waiting  train.  She  stood  on  the  platform,  waving  her 
little  lace-bordered  handkerchief,  until  the  last  car 
rounded  the  curve  and  the  fluttering  bit  of  white  that 
was  waved  in  answer  had  vanished. 

Then  Madame  sighed,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  drove 
home. 
if 


XXII 
71  JSfttbfcaB  pacts 


ALLISON  received  the  note  from  Rose  at  the  time  he 
was  expecting  Rose  herself,  and  was  keenly  dis 
appointed.  "She  might  at  least  have  stopped  long 
enough  to  say  good-bye,"  he  said  to  his  father. 

'  '  Don't  be'selfish,  lad,  "  laughed  the  Colonel.  "We 
owe  her  now  a  debt  that  we  can  never  hope  to  pay.  " 

The  young  man's  face  softened.  "What  a  brick 
she  has  been!"  Then,  to  himself,  he  added:  "If  she 
had  loved  me,  she  couldn't  have  done  more.  " 

Life  seemed  very  good  to  them  both  that  crisp 
September  morning.  Just  after  breakfast  Doctor 
Jack  had  announced,  definitely,  that  the  crushed 
hand  was  saved,  unless  there  should  be  some  unlooked- 
for  complication.  "But  mind  you,"  he  insisted,  "I 
don't  promise  any  violin-playing,  and  there'll  be  scars, 
but  we'll  make  it  look  as  well  as  we  can.  Anyhow, 
you'll  not  be  helpless." 

Allison  smiled  happily.  "Why  can't  I  play,  if  it 
heals  up  all  right?" 

"There  may  be  a  nerve  or  two  that  won't  work  just 
right,  or  a  twisted  muscle,  or  something.  However, 
we'll  keep  hoping." 

The  heavy  weight  that  had  lain  so  long  upon  Alli 
son's  heart  was  slow  in  lifting.  At  first  he  could  not 

258 


a  BfrtbDag  ipartg  259 

believe  the  good  news,  greatly  to  Doctor  Jack's 
disgust. 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  much,"  he  remarked. 
"I  supposed  you'd  turn  at  least  one  somersault.  The 
Colonel  is  more  pleased  than  you  are. " 

"Dear  old  dad,"  said  Allison,  gratefully.  "I  owe 
him  everything." 

"Everything?"  repeated  the  Doctor,  with  lifted 
brows.  "And  where  does  Jonathan  Ebenezer  Middle- 
kauffer  come  in,  to  say  nothing  of  the  future  Mrs. 
Kent?" 

Allison's  face  clouded  for  an  instant.  "I'll  never 
forget  what  you've  done  for  me,  but  there  isn't  any 
future  Mrs.  Kent." 

"No?    Why  I  thought " 

"So  did  I,  but  she's  thrown  me  over  and  gone  away. 
This  morning  she  sent  me  a  note  of  congratulation 
and  farewell." 

"Upon  my  word!    What  have  you  done  to  her?" 

"Nothing.  She  says  I  don't  need  her  any  more 
now,  so  she's  going  away. " 

Doctor  Jack  paced  back  and  forth  on  the  veranda 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "The  darkly  mys 
terious  ways  of  the  ever-feminine  are  wonderful  be 
yond  the  power  of  words  to  portray.  Apparently 
you've  had  to  choose  between  your  hand  and  hers. " 

"I'm  not  sure,"  returned  Allison,  thoughtfully, 
"that  I  wouldn't  rathe*-  have  hers  than  mine." 

"Brace  up,  old  man.  Get  well  and  go  after  her. 
The  world  isn't  big  enough  to  keep  a  man  away  from 
the  woman  he  wants. " 

"But,"  answered  Allison,  dejectedly,  "she  doesn't 
care  for  me.  It  was  only  womanly  pity,  and  now  that 
I  don't  need  that,  I've  lost  her. " 


2<5o  Old  1Rosc  an&  Silver 

"She  doesn't  care  for  you!"  repeated  the  Doctor. 
"Why,  man,  how  can  you  sit  there  and  tell  a  lie  like 
that?  Of  course  she  cares!" 

Allison  turned  to  look  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"It  isn't  possible!" 

"Isn't  it?  Then  I  don't  know  anything  about 
human  nature,  though  I  must  confess  I'm  not  up 
much  on  the  feminine  part  of  it.  How  long 

"Just  since  the  accident.  The  girl  I  was  going  to 
marry  let  me  release  her.  She  didn't  want  a  cripple, 
you  know." 

"And  Miss  Bernard  did,  and  you've  disappointed 
her?" 

"Something  like  that." 

"You  seem  to  have  had  fierce  luck  with  girls.  One 
gives  you  up  because  you've  only  got  one  hand,  and 
the  other  because  you've  got  two.  There's  no  pleasing 
women.  Hello — here  comes  another  note.  Maybe 
she's  changed  her  mind." 

For  a  breathless  instant  Allison  thought  so,  too,  but 
Doctor  Jack  was  opening  it.  " Mine, "  he  said.  "It's 
an  invitation  to  Crosby's.  It  seems  that  they  come 
of  age  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I'm  invited  out  to 
supper  to  help  celebrate.  I  won't  go,  or  anything, 
will  I?  Oh,  no,  of  course  not!  I  haven't  seen  'em  for 
a  week.  Are  presents  expected?" 

"Your  presence  seems  to  be  expected,"  remarked 
Allison. 

"I'm  glad  you've  got  that  out  of  your  system, "  the 
Doctor  retorted,  with  a  scornful  smile.  "You  ought 
to  improve  right  along  now. " 

"Is  it  a  party?" 

"They  don't  say  so.    I  hope  it  isn't. " 
.    However,  when  Doctor  Jack  strolled  up  the  dusty 


H  JSfrtbfcaE  iparts  261 

road,  a  carriage  that  must  have  come  from  Crosby's 
passed  him.  He  stopped  short,  wildly  considering  an 
impulse  of  flight.  Then  he  went  on  bravely,  smiling 
at  the  thought  that  any  entertainment  given  by  the 
twins  could  be  by  any  possibility,  a  formal  affair. 

The  other  guest  was  Isabel,  whom  Doctor  Jack 
had  not  met  and  of  whom  he  knew  nothing.  She 
observed  him  narrowly  when  opportunity  offered,  for 
she  knew  who  he  was,  and  wondered  what  he  had 
heard  of  her.  Soon  she  became  certain  that  her  name 
carried  no  meaning  to  him,  for  he  talked  freely  of 
Allison  and  the  Colonel  and  frankly  shared  the  joy 
of  the  twins  at  the  welcome  news. 

"Oh,"  cried  Juliet,  clapping  her  hands  in  glee. 
""It's  the  very  best  birthday  present  we  could 
have,  isn't  it,  Romie?" 

"I  should  say,"  replied  that  young  man,  with  an 
expansive  smile.  "Say,"  he  added  to  Doctor  Jack, 
"you  must  be  a  brick. " 

"I've  only  done  my  best,"  he  responded,  modestly. 

Isabel  could  say  nothing  for  some  little  time.  She 
was  furiously  angry  with  Aunt  Francesca  because  she 
had  not  told  her.  The  day  that  Rose  went  away, 
everyone  in  the  house  had  been  very  glad  about  some 
thing,  even  to  the  servants,  but  she  had  asked  no 
questions  and  received  no  information,  except  that 
Rose  had  been  obliged  to  go  away  very  suddenly  upon 
business  of  immediate  importance. 

"You  must  be  awful  glad,"  said  Juliet,  to  Isabel. 

"Of  course,"  answered  Isabel,  coldly,  clearing  her 
throat. 

"He  must  feel  pretty  good,"  Romeo  obsenred. 

"Yes,"  returned  Doctor  Jack,  "except  that  he's 
lost  his  girl." 


262  ©U>  IRose  anfc  Silver 

Isabel  flushed  and  nervously  turned  on  her  finger 
the  diamond  ring  that  she  still  wore. 

"He's  had  fierce  luck  with  girls,"  resumed  the 
Doctor,  unthinkingly.  "One  passed  him  up  because 
he  was  hurt,  and  the  other  because  he  was  going  to  get 
well." 

The  tense  silence  that  ensued  indicated  that  he  had 
made  a  mistake  of  some  sort.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  him  that  the  twins  did  not  know  of  Allison's 
engagement  to  Rose,  nor  did  he  suspect  Isabel's 
identity. 

Juliet  was  staring  at  Isabel  in  pained  surprise. 
"Did  you?"  she  asked,  slowly,  "throw  him  over 
because  he  got  hurt?" 

"He  offered  to  release  me,"  said  Isabel,  in  a  small, 
cold  voice,  "and  I  accepted.  I  did  not  know  until 
just  now  that  Cousin  Rose  had  taken  my  leavings. " 
The  older  woman's  mysterious  departure  presented 
itself  to  her  now  in  a  new  light. 

"Suffering  Cyrus,"  said  Doctor  Jack,  aloud,  "but 
I  have  put  my  foot  into  it.  Look  here,  kind  friends, 
I  never  was  meant  for  a  parlour,  and  I  always  make 
mistakes  when  I  stray  into  one.  My  place  is  in  a 
hospital  ward  or  at  the  bedside  of  those  who  have 
been  given  up  to  die.  The  complex  social  arena  is  not 
where  I  shine  to  my  best  advantage.  There  are  too 
many  rings  to  keep  track  of  at  once,  and  my  mind  gets 
cross-eyed." 

'''Come  on  up  to  the  attic,"  suggested  Juliet,  with 
a  swift  change  of  subject,  "and  we'll  do  stunts  on  the 
trapeze. " 

Isabel  and  Doctor  Jack  sat  side  by  side  on  a  battered 
old  trunk  in  stony  silence  while  the  twins  were  donning 
their  gymnasium  costumes.  Fortunately,  it  did  not 


H  JSirtb&aB  parts  263 

take  long  and  the  sight  of  Juliet  hanging  by  her 
feet  furnished  the  needed  topic  of  conversation. 
The  lithe  little  body  seemed  to  be  made  of  steel 
fibres.  She  swayed  back  and  forth,  catching  Romeo 
as  he  made  a  flying  leap  from  the  other  trapeze, 
as  easily  as  another  girl  would  have  wielded  a  tennis 
racquet. 

At  length  Doctor  Jack  interposed  a  friendly  word 
of  warning.  "Look  here,  kid,"  he  said,  "you're  made 
of  flesh  and  blood,  you  know,  just  like  the  rest  of 
us.  Better  cut  out  that  trapeze  business. " 

"I  don't  know  why,"  returned  Juliet,  resent 
fully,  as  cshe  slipped  gracefully  to  the  floor,  right 
side  up.  "I'm  as  strong  as  Romie  is,  or  almost  as 
strong." 

"  Girls  do  it  in  the  circus, "  Romeo  observed,  wiping 
his  flushed  face. 

"Ever  heard  of  any  of  'em  living  to  celebrate 
their  hundredth  birthday?"  queried  Doctor  Jack, 
significantly. 

The  twins  admitted  that  they  had  not.  "I  don't 
care, "  cried  Juliet,  "I'd  rather  live  ten  years  and  keep 
going,  than  live  to  be  a  hundred  and  have  to  sit  still 
all  the  time." 

" No  danger  of  your  sitting  still  too  long,"  returned 
Doctor  Jack,  good-humouredly.  "It's  hot  up  here, 
isn't  it?" 

"Rather  warm,"  Romeo  agreed.  "You  folks  can 
go  downstairs  until  we  get  on  our  other  clothes,  if 
you  like." 

They  had  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs  when 
Isabel  changed  her  mind.  "I  believe  I'll  wait  for 
Juliet,"  she  said,  turning  back. 

So  the  Doctor  went  down  alone,  inwardly  reviling 


264  ©l&  TRose  anfc  Stiver 

himself  for  his  unlucky  speech,  and  glad  of  an  oppor 
tunity  to  contemplate  the  characteristic  residence  of 
the  twins. 

The  whole  house  was,  frankly,  a  place  where  people 
did  as  they  chose,  and  the  furniture  bore  marks  of 
having  been  used  not  wisely,  but  too  well.  Every 
thing  was  clean,  though  not  aggressively  so.  He 
ascribed  the  absence  of  lace  curtains  to  Romeo  and 
the  Cloisonne  vase  to  Juliet.  The  fishing  rods  in  one 
corner  were  probably  due  to  both. 

When  the  others  came  down,  Juliet  tied  a  big  blue 
gingham  apron  over  her  white  muslin  gown  and 
excused  herself.  She  had  been  cooking  for  the  better 
part  of  two  days  and  took  a  housewifely  pride  in 
doing  everything  herself.  They  had  chosen  the  things 
they  liked  the  most,  so  the  dinner  was  unusual,  as 
dinners  go. 

Isabel,  eating  daintily,  made  no  effort  to  conceal 
her  disdain,  but  Doctor  Jack  ate  heartily,  praised 
everything,  and  brought  the  blush  of  pleasure  to 
Juliet's  rosy  cheeks. 

Romeo,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  radiated  the 
hospitality  of  the  true  host,  yet  a  close  observer  would 
have  noted  how  often  he  cast  admiring  glances  at 
Isabel.  She  was  so  dainty,  so  beautifully  gowned 
and  elaborately  coiffured,  that  Romeo  compared 
her  with  his  sister  greatly  to  the  disadvantage  of  the 
latter. 

Juliet's  hair  was  unruly  and  broke  into  curls  all 
around  her  face;  Isabel's  was  in  perfect  order,  with 
every  wave  mathematically  exact.  Juliet's  face  was 
tanned  and  rosy ;  Isabel's  pale  and  cool.  Juliet's  hands 
were  rough  and  her  finger-tips  square;  Isabel's  were 
white  and  tapering,  with  perfectly  manicured  nails. 


H  JSirtbfcas  jpartg  265 

And  their  gowns — there  was  no  possible  comparison 
there.  Both  were  in  white,  but  Romeo  discovered 
that  there  might  be  a  vast  difference  in  white 
gowns. 

Afterward,  the  guests  were  taken  out  into  the  yard, 
and  led  to  the  comprehensive  grave  of  the  nineteen 
dogs.  Minerva  kept  at  a  safe  distance,  but  the  five 
puppies  gambolled  and  frolicked,  even  to  the  verge  of 
the  sepulchre.  Romeo  desired  to  send  a  dog  to  Allison, 
and  generously  offered  Isabel  her  choice,  but  she 
refused. 

"Ill  take  the  pup,"  said  the  Doctor.  "It  might 
amuse  him,  and  anyhow,  he'd  like  to  know  that  you 
thought  of  him." 

Isabel  had  strolled  down  toward  the  barn.  Juliet 
hesitated,  duty  bidding  her  follow  Isabel  and  inclina 
tion  holding  her  back.  Presently  Isabel  returned, 
and  her  face  was  surprisingly  animated. 

"Is  that  our  car  in  the  barn?"  she  asked.  Her 
manner  betrayed  great  excitement. 

"Why,  it's  Allison  Kent's  car,  isn't  it?"  inquired 
Romeo. 

"  I  thought  it  was  mine.  Colonel  Kent  gave  it  to  me 
for  a  wedding  present. " 

"I  thought  you  couldn't  keep  the  wedding  pres 
ents  unless  the  wedding  came  off,"  Juliet  observed 
practically. 

"I've  still  got  my  ring, "  said  Isabel.  "Allison  said 
he  wanted  me  to  keep  it,  and  he  gave  me  his  violin, 
too.  I  should  think  they'd  want  me  to  keep  the 
car." 

"Better  make  sure,"  suggested  Doctor  Jack, 
politely. 

"People  don't  scatter  automobiles  around  care- 


c66  ©lfc  1Rose  an&  Silver 


lessly  among  their  friends,  as  a  general  rule,  "  observed 
Juliet. 

"I  wish  I  could  get  it  up  to  Kent's,"  Romeo  said, 
thoughtfully.  "  It  always  reminds  me  —  here.  " 

"I'd  just  as  soon  drive  it  back,"  the  Doctor  an 
swered.  "It's  more  of  a  trot  out  here  than  I  supposed 
it  was." 

"Why,  yes,"  cried  Juliet.  "You  can  drive  it  back 
to-night  and  take  Isabel  home!" 

"  Charmed,  "  lied  the  Doctor,  with  an  awkward  bow. 

So  it  happened  that  Isabel  once  more  climbed  into 
the  red  car  and  went  back  over  the  fateful  road.  The 
machine  ran  well,  but  it  seemed  to  require  the  driver's 
entire  attention,  for  his  conversation  consisted  of 
brief  remarks  to  which  answers  even  more  brief  were 
vouchsafed. 

When  he  turned  on  the  wide  road  in  front  of 
Madame  Bernard's,  after  leaving  Isabel  at  the  gate, 
she  lingered  in  the  shadow,  watching,  until  he  was  out 
of  sight.  The  throb  of  the  engine  became  fainter  and 
fainter,  then  died  away  altogether.  Isabel  sighed  and 
went  in,  wondering  if  Allison,  after  giving  her  the  ring 
and  the  violin,  would  not  also  want  her  to  have  the  car. 
Or,  if  that  seemed  too  much,  and  she  should  send  back 
the  violin  —  she  pondered  over  it  until  almost  dawn, 
then  went  to  sleep. 

The  following  afternoon,  while  Madame  Bernard 
slept,  Isabel  sat  idly  in  the  living-room,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  though,  as  she  told  herself  fretfully,  there 
was  not  much  use  of  looking  out  of  the  window  when 
nobody  ever  went  by.  But  no  sooner  had  she  phrased 
the  thought  than  she  heard  the  faint  chug-chug  of  an 
approaching  motor. 


a  Bfrtb&as  parts  267 

She  moved  back,  into  the  shelter  of  the  curtain, 
and  presently  saw  the  big  red  automobile  whizz  by. 
Doctor  Jack,  hatless  and  laughing,  was  at  the  wheel. 
Beside  him  was  Colonel  Kent. 

Had  they  gone  out  and  left  Allison  alone?  Surely, 
since  there  was  no  one  else.  Fortune  favoured  her  if 
she  wished  to  see  him.  But  did  she  dare? 

Isabel  was  nothing  if  not  courageous.  Arming  her 
self  with  an  excuse  in  the  shape  of  the  violin,  she 
sallied  forth  and  made  her  way  to  Kent's,  meeting  no 
one  upon  the  well-worn  path. 

As  it  happened,  Allison  was  on  the  lower  veranda, 
walking  back  and  forth,  persistently  accompanied  by 
the  Crosby  pup.  Assisted  by  the  Colonel  and  Doctor 
Jack,  he  had  come  down  without  accident,  and  had 
promised  to  go  out  in  the  car  with  them  a  little 
later. 

When  he  saw  Isabel  coming  up  the  walk,  he  stopped 
in  astonishment.  He  did  not  go  to  meet  her,  but 
offered  her  a  chair  and  said,  with  formal  polite 
ness:  "How  do  you  do?  This  is  an  unexpected 
pleasure." 

"I  brought  this,"  began  Isabel,  offering  him  the 
violin. 

He  took  it  with  a  smile.  "Thank  you.  I  don't 
know  that  I  shall  ever  use  it  again,  but  I  am  glad 
to  have  it. " 

There  was  a  pause  and  Isabel  moved  restlessly  in 
her  chair.  Then  she  slipped  the  ring  from  her  finger. 
"  Do  you  want  this  now?  "  she  asked.  Her  face  was  a 
shade  paler. 

Allison  laughed.  "Indeed  I  don't.  Whom  could  I 
give  it  to?" 

"Rose,"  suggested  Isabel,  maliciously. 


268  <S>U>  TRose  anb  Silver 

Allison  sighed  and  turned  his  face  away.  "She 
wouldn't  take  it,"  he  said,  sadly. 

Isabel  slipped  it  back  on  her  finger,  evidently  re 
lieved.  "I'm  glad  you're  better,"  she  went  on, 
clearing  her  throat. 

"Thank  you.    So  am  I." 

"I  saw  your  father,  out  in  the  car.  The  Doctor  was 
with  him." 

"Yes.  They're  coming  back  for  me  in  a  little 
while." 

"It's  a  lovely  car.  The  Doctor  brought  me  home 
in  it  last  night,  from  Crosby's. " 

"So  he  told  me. "  Allison  did  not  see  fit  to  say  just 
how  much  Doctor  Jack  had  told  him.  He  smiled  a 
little  at  the  recollection  of  the  young  man's  remorseful 
confession. 

"I  told  them,"  continued  Isabel,  "that  I  thought  it 
was  mine — that  your  father  had  given  it  to  me,  but  it 
seems  I  was  mistaken. " 

"It  seems  so, "  Allison  agreed.  " Dad  gave  it  to  the 
Doctor  this  morning. " 

Isabel  repressed  a  bitter  cry  of  astonishment.  "For 
keeps?" 

"  Yes,  for  keeps.  It's  little  enough  to  give  him  after 
all  he's  done  for  me.  We  both  wanted  him  to  have 
it." 

"You  could  get  another,  couldn't  you?" 

"I  suppose  so,  if  I  wanted  it.  People  can  usually 
get  things  they  want,  if  they  are  intangible. " 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  resumed  Isabel,  "that  I 
was  sorry  I  acted  the  way  I  did  the  last  time  I  was 
here." 

"Don't  think  of  it,"  replied  Allison,  kindly.  "It 
was  very  natural. " 


H  Birtbfcag  ipartg  269 

"  It  was  all  a  great  shock  to  me,  and  I  was  lame,  and 
— and — I  wish  everything  could  be  as  it  was  before," 
she  concluded,  with  a  faint  flush  creeping  into  her 
face. 

"That  is  the  great  tragedy  of  life,  Isabel — that 
things  can  never  be  as  they  were  before.  Sometimes 
they're  worse,  sometimes  better,  but  the  world  is  never 
the  same." 

"Of  course,"  she  answered,  without  grasping  his 
meaning,  "but  you're  going  to  be  all  right  again  now, 
and — that's  the  same." 

Allison  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  bit  his  lips  to 
conceal  a  smile.  "It  may  be  the  same  for  me,  but  it 
couldn't  be  for  you.  I  couldn't  give  you  any  guarantee 
that  it  wouldn't  happen  again,  you  know.  I  might 
be  run  over  by  a  railroad  train  or  a  trolley  car,  or  any 
one  of  a  thousand  things  might  happen  to  me.  There's 
always  a  risk." 

Tears  filled  Isabel's  eyes.  "I  don't  believe  you 
ever  cared  very  much  for  me,"  she  said,  her  lips 
quivering. 

"I  did,  Isabel,"  he  answered,  kindly,  "but  it's  gone 
now.  Even  at  that,  it  lasted  longer  than  you  cared  for 
me.  Come,  let's  be  friends. " 

He  offered  his  hand.  She  put  hers  into  it  for  a 
moment,  then  quickly  took  it  away.  He  noted  that 
it  was  very  cold. 

"I  must  be  going,"  she  said,  keeping  her  self- 
control  with  difficulty.  "Aunt  Francesca  will  miss 
me." 

"Thank  you  for  coming — and  for  bringing  the 
violin. " 

"You're  welcome.    Good-bye. " 

"Good-bye,  Silver  Girl.    I  hope  you'll  be  happy." 


270  Oft  1Rose  ant>  Silver 

Isabel  did  not  answer,  nor  turn  back.  She  went 
out  of  the  gate  and  out  of  his  life,  pride  keeping  her 
head  high  until  she  had  turned  the  corner.  Then, 
very  sorry  for  herself,  she  sat  down  and  wept. 


XXIII 
44  {Tears,  f  Die 


"SAY,  Jule,  "  inquired  Romeo,  casually,  "why  is  it 
that  you  don't  look  like  a  lady?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Juliet,  bristling. 

"I  don't  know  just  what  I  mean,  but  you  seem  so 
different  from  everybody  else.  " 

"I'm  clean,  ain't  I?" 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  grudgingly. 

"And  my  hair  is  combed?" 

"Sometimes." 

"^nd  my  white  dress  is  clean,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  it  doesn't  look  like  —  like  hers,  you 
know.  " 

"Her?    Who's  'her'?" 

"You  know  —  Isabel." 

Juliet  sighed  and  bit  her  lips.  Her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  and  she  winked  very  hard  to  keep  them  back. 
An  ominous  pain  clutched  at  her  loyal  little  heart. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Romie?"  she  asked. 
gently. 

"Why,  I  don't  know.  Men  never  know  about  such 
things.  Just  make  yourself  like  her  —  that's  all.  " 

"Huh!"  Juliet  was  scornful  now.  "I  don't  know 
whether  I  want  to  look  like  her  or  not,  "  she  remarked, 
coldly. 

"Why  not?"  he  flashed  back. 
271 


©It)  "Rose  ant>  Stiver 

"And  I  don't  want  to  be  like  her,  either.  She  can't 
do  anything.  She  can't  cook,  or  swing  on  the  trapeze, 
or  skate,  or  fish,  or  row,  or  swim,  or  climb  a  tree,  or 
ride  horseback,  or  walk,  or  anything. " 

"I  could  teach  her, "  mused  Romeo,  half  to  himself. 
"I  taught  you." 

"Yes, "  cried  Juliet,  swallowing  the  persistent  lump 
in  her  throat,  "and  now  you've  done  it,  you're 
ashamed  of  me!" 

"I  didn't  say  so,"  he  temporised. 

"You  didn't  have  to.  Don't  you  suppose  I  can 
see?" 

"Don't  get  so  mad  about  it.  She  was  laughing  at 
you  last  night  and  so  was  the  Doctor.  They  didn't 
think  it  was  nice  for  you  to  put  on  your  knickers  and 
swing  on  the  trapeze.  Ladies  don't  do  that. " 

"You  taught  me, "  she  reminded  him,  quickly. 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  ask  you  to  do  it  before  everybody. 
You  started  it  yourself.  Isabel  wouldn't  look  at  you, 
and  you  remember  what  the  Doctor  said,  don't  you? 
He  told  you  to  cut  it  out. " 

"That  was  because  he  thought  it  was  dangerous." 

"  'Tisn't  dangerous,  and  he  knows  it.  He  knew  it 
wasn't  refined  and  lady-like  for  you  to  do  that  before 
men. " 

"It  was  only  a  doctor,"  Juliet  replied,  in  a  small, 
thin  voice.  "They're  different  from  other  people.  I 
wouldn't  let  the  Kents  see  me  in  my  knickers,  and  you 
know  it. " 

"You  would,  too,  if  you  wanted  to.  You're  a 
perfect  tomboy.  You  wouldn't  see  Isabel  doing 
that. " 

"Probably  not,"  answered  Juliet,  dryly.  "She's 
no  more  likely  to  do  that  than  I  would  be  to  go  back 


"treats,  ffcle  Uears"  273 

on  the  man  I'd  promised  to  marry,  just  because  his 
hand  was  hurt. " 

"You'll  never  have  a  chance  to  go  back  on  anybody, 
so  you  don't  know  what  you'd  do. " 

"Why  won't  I?" 

"Because,"  answered  Romeo,  choosing  his  words 
carefully,  "when  a  man  gets  married,  he  wants  to 
marry  a  lady,  not  a  tomboy."  For  some  unknown 
reason,  he  resented  any  slur  cast  at  Isabel. 

"And, "  replied  Juliet,  cuttingly,  "when  a  lady  gets 
married,  she  wants  to  marry  a  gentleman."  The 
accent  carried  insult  with  it,  and  Romeo  left  the  house, 
slamming  the  door  and  whistling  defiantly  until  he 
was  out  of  hearing. 

There  was  no  longer  any  need  for  Juliet  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  Stretched  at  full  length  upon  the 
disembowelled  sofa,  she  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow 
and  wept  until  she  could  weep  no  more.  Then  she 
bathed  her  face,  and  pinned  up  her  tangled  hair,  and 
went  to  the  one  long  mirror  the  Crosby  mansion 
boasted  of,  to  take  an  inventory  of  herself. 

She  could  see  that  Romeo  was  right — she  didn't 
look  like  a  lady.  Her  skirt  was  too  short  and  didn't 
hang  evenly,  and  her  belt  was  wrong  because  she  had 
no  corsets.  Juliet  made  a  wry  face  at  the  thought  of  a 
corset.  None  of  her  clothes  fitted  like  Isabel's,  her  face 
was  tanned,  her  hands  rough  and  red,  and  her  nails 
impossible. 

"I  look  just  like  a  boy, "  Juliet  admitted  to  herself, 
"dressed  up  in  girl's  clothes.  If  Romie's  hair  was 
long,  and  he  had  on  this  dress,  he'd  look  just  like  me." 

Pride  forbade  her  to  go  to  Isabel  and  inquire  into 
the  mysteries  of  her  all-pervading  femininity.  Any 
how,  Isabel  would  laugh  at  her.  Anybody  would 

18 


£74  ®l&  "Rose  an&  Silver 

laugh  at  her — unless  Miss  Bernard — but  she  had 
gone  away.  She  was  a  lady,  even  more  than  Isabel, 
and  so  was  the  little  old  lady  everybody  called  "Aunt 
Francesca. " 

If  she  could  see  "Aunt  Francesca, "  she  wouldn't  be 
ashamed  to  tell  her  what  Romeo  had  said.  If  she  only 
knew  what  to  do,  she  could  do  it,  for  she  had  plenty  of 
money.  Juliet  dimly  discerned  that  money  was  very 
necessary  if  one  would  be  the  same  sort  of  "lady" 
that  the  others  were. 

"If  Mamma  hadn't  died,"  said  Juliet,  to  herself, 
"I  guess  I'd  have  been  as  much  of  a  lady  as  anybody, 
and  nobody  would  have  dared  call  me  a  tomboy." 
Her  heart  ached  for  the  gentle  little  mother  who  had 
died  many  years  ago.  "She  would  have  known," 
sighed  Juliet.  "Mamma  was  a  lady  if  anybody  ever 
was,  and  she  didn't  have  the  money  we've  got  either. " 

The  life  of  the  Crosbys  had  been  bare  of  luxuries 
and  sometimes  even  of  comforts,  until  the  considerate 
uncle  died  and  left  his  money  to  the  twins.  As  for 
tunes  go,  it  was  not  much,  but  it  seemed  inexhaustible 
to  them  because  they  did  not  know  how  to  spend  it. 

"I'll  go  this  very  day,"  thought  Juliet,  "and  see 
Aunt  Francesca.  I'll  ask  her.  If  Isabel  is  there,  I'll 
have  to  wait,  but  if  I  don't  ask  for  Isabel,  maybe  I 
won't  see  her." 

Having  decided  upon  a  plan  of  action,  the  way 
seemed  easier,  so  Juliet  went  about  her  daily  duties 
with  a  lighter  heart,  and  even  sang  after  a  fashion,  as 
she  awkwardly  pressed  th«  wrinkles  from  her  white 
muslin  gown.  Though  it  was  September,  it  was  still 
warm  enough  to  wear  it. 

Romeo,  having  only  the  day  before  attained  his 
maturity,  had  taken  unto  himself  the  masculine 


"ZTears,  l&le  dears'*  275 

privilege  of  getting  angry  at  someone  else  for  what  he 
himself  had  done.  He  was  furious  with  Juliet,  though 
he  did  not  trouble  himself  to  ask  why.  "The  idea," 
he  muttered,  "of  her  criticising  Isabel!" 

His  wounded  sensibilities  impelled  him  to  walk  past 
the  Bernard  house,  very  slowly,  two  or  three  times, 
but  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  He  went  to  the  post- 
office  as  a  mere  matter  of  habit ;  there  was  seldom  any 
mail  for  the  Crosbys  except  on  the  first  of  the  month, 
when  the  lawyer's  formal  note,  "enclosing  remit 
tance,"  came  duly  to  hand.  Nobody  seemed  to  be 
around — there  was  nothing  to  do.  It  would  have  been 
natural  to  go  back  home,  but  he  was  too  angry  for 
that,  and  inwardly  vowed  to  stay  away  long  enough  to 
bring  Juliet  to  her  senses. 

He  recalled  the  night  he  had  called  upon  Isabel  and 
had  not  reached  home  until  late.  He  remembered 
the  torrent  of  tears  and  Juliet's  cry:  "Oh,  Romie! 
Romie !  I  don't  care  where  you've  been  as  long  as  I've 
got  you  back!"  It  pleased  his  masculLie  sense  of 
superiority  to  know  that  he  had  power  over  a  woman's 
tears — to  make  them  come  or  go,  as  he  chose. 

He  sauntered  slowly  toward  Kent's,  thinking  that 
he  might  while  away  an  hour  or  two  there.  It  was  a 
long  time  until  midnight,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
nothing  to  do  but  to  sit  and  wait.  He  could  ask  about 
the  car  and  whether  it  was  all  right  now.  If  Doctor 
Jack  could  run  it,  maybe  they  could  go  out  together 
for  a  little  spin.  It  would  be  nice  to  go  by  his  own 
house  and  never  even  turn  his  head.  And,  if  they 
could  get  Isabel  to  go,  too,  it  would  teach  Juliet  a 
much-needed  lesson. 

He  had  nearly  reached  his  destination  when  he 
came  upon  the  picture  of  Beauty  in  Distress.  Isabel 


276  ©to  1Rose  ant)  Silver 

sat  at  the  roadside,  leaning  against  a  tree,  sobbing. 
Romeo  gave  a  long,  low  whistle  of  astonishment. 
"Say,"  he  called,  cheerfully,  "what's  wrong?" 

Isabel  looked  up,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  began  to  weep 
more  earnestly.  Though  Juliet's  tears  had  moved 
him  to  anger  and  disdain,  Isabel's  grief  roused  all  his 
chivalry.  He  sat  down  beside  her  and  tried  to  take 
her  handkerchief  away  from  her  eyes. 

"Don't,"  he  said,  softly.     "What's  the  matter?" 

"Oh,"  sobbed  Isabel,  "I'm  the  most  miserable  girl 
in  the  whole  world.  Nobody  wants  me!" 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  demanded  Romeo. 
"Look  here,  if  you'll  tell  me  who's  been  making  you 
cry,  I'll " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  his  tone  indicated 
that  dire  misfortune  would  be  visited  upon  the  luckless 
individual  directly  responsible  for  Isabel's  tears. 

"You  know,"  began  Isabel,  after  her  sobs  had 
quieted  somewhat,  "I  was  engaged  to  Allison  Kent 
until  you  ran  over  us.  At  first  I  couldn't  go  over — 
I  was  so  bruised  and  lame  and  before  I  was  well 
enough  to  go,  I  got  a  note  from  him,  releasing  me 
from  the  engagement. " 

"Yes?"  queried  Romeo,  encouragingly.    "Go  on." 

"Well,  I  didn't  think  I  ought  to  go  over,  under  the 
circumstances,  but  Aunt  Francesca  made  me  go — she's 
been  mean  to  me,  too.  So  I  went  and  he  was  horrid 
to  me — perfectly  horrid.  I  offered  him  his  ring  and  he 
almost  threw  his  violin  at  me,  and  told  me  to  keep 
that,  too.  I  was  afraid  of  him. 

"Well,  since  that,  everything  has  been  awful.  I 
wrote  to  Mamma,  and  told  her  about  it  and  that  I 
couldn't  stay  here  any  longer,  and  she  didn't  answer 
for  a  long  time.  Then  she  said  I  would  have  to  stay 


"ZCears,  IMe  Treats"  £77 

where  I  was  until  she  could  make  new  arrangements 
for  me  and  that  she  was  glad  I  wasn't  going  to  marry  a 
cripple.  She  said  something  about  'the  survival  of 
the  unfit, '  but  I  didn't  understand  it. 

"And  then,  last  night,  when  I  heard  that  Allison 
wasn't  going  to  lose  his  hand  after  all,  I  thought  I 
ought  to  take  his  violin  back  to  him  and  try  to  well, — 
to  make  up,  you  know.  So  I've  just  been  there.  He 
took  the  violin  all  right,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  want 
me.  He  said  nothing  could  ever  be  as  it  was  before. 
I  was  ready  to  get  married  and  go  away — I'd  do 
almost  anything  for  a  change — but  he  actually  seemed 
to  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me  and  they've  given  my 
automobile,  that  Colonel  Kent  himself  gave  to  me  for 
a  wedding  present,  to  that  doctor  who  was  out  to  your 
house  last  night.  Oh,"  sobbed  Isabel,  "I  wish  I  was 
dead.  If  you  only  hadn't  run  over  us,  everything 
would  have  been  all  right!" 

Romeo's  young  face  was  set  in  stern  and  unaccus 
tomed  lines.  He,  then,  was  directly  responsible  for 
Isabel's  tears.  He  had  run  over  them  and  hurt  Isabel 
and  made  everything  wrong  for  her,  and,  because  she 
was  a  lady,  she  wasn't  blaming  him  in  the  least.  She 
had  merely  pointed  out  to  him,  as  gently  as  she  could, 
what  he  had  done  to  her. 

A  bright  idea  flashed  into  his  mind,  as  he  remem 
bered  that  he  was  twenty-one  now  and  could  do  as  he 
pleased  without  consulting  anybody.  He  reached 
into  his  pocket,  drew  out  a  handful  of  greenbacks  and 
silver,  even  a  gold  piece  or  two.  It  would  serve  Juliet 
just  right  and  make  up  to  Isabel  for  what  he  had  done. 

"  I  say,  Isabel, "  he  began  awkwardly.  "  Would  you 
be  willing  to  marry  me?" 

Isabel  quickly  dried  her  tears,     "Why,  I  den't 


278  ©l&  1Rt>se  anfc  Silver 

know,"  she  answered,  much  astonished.  Then  the 
practical  side  of  her  nature  asserted  itself.  "Have 
you  got  money  enough?" 

Romeo  tendered  the  handful  of  currency.  "All 
this,  and  plenty  more  in  the  bank. " 

"I  know,  but  it  was  the  bank  I  was  talking  about. 
Have  you  got  enough  for  us  to  live  at  a  nice  hotel 
and  go  to  the  theatre  every  night?" 

"More  than  that,"  Romeo  asserted,  confidently. 
"I've  got  loads." 

"I— don't  know,"  said  Isabel,  half  to  herself.  "It 
would  serve  them  all  right.  Allison  used  to  be  jealous 
of  you, "  she  added,  with  a  sidelong  glance  that  set  his 
youthful  heart  to  fluttering. 

"Juliet  is  jealous  of  you, "  Romeo  responded  disloy 
ally.  "  We  had  an  awful  scrap  this  morning  because  I 
asked  her  why  she  didn't  try  to  be  a  lady,  like  you. " 

"Of  course,"  replied  Isabel,  smoothing  her  gown 
with  a  dainty  hand,  "I've  always  liked  Juliet,  but  I 
liked  you  better. " 

"Really,  Isabel?    Did  you  always  like  me?" 

"Always." 

"Then  come  on.  Let's  skip  out  now,  the  way  they 
do  in  the  books.  Let's  take  the  next  train. " 

"Why  not  get  married  here?"  objected  Isabel, 
practically,  "and  take  the  four-thirty  into  town? 
There's  a  minister  here,  and  while  you're  seeing  about 
it,  I  can  go  home  and  get  my  coat." 

"All  right,  but  don't  stop  for  anything  else.  We've 
got  to  hustle.  Don't  tell  any  body  i " 

"Not  even  Aunt  Francesca?" 

"No,  she'd  make  a  fuss.  And  besides,  she  doesn't 
deserve  it,  if  she's  been  mean  to  you. "  Romeo  leaned 
over  and  bestowed  a  meaningless  peck  upon  the  fair 


"Uears,  IMe  aears  "  279 

cheek  of  his  betrothed.  "  I'll  never  be  mean  to  you, " 
he  said. 

"I  know  you  won't,"  Isabel  returned,  trustfully. 
Then  she  laughed  as  she  rose  to  her  feet.  "It  will  be  a 
good  joke  on  Allison, "  she  said,  gleefully. 

"  It'll  be  a  good  joke  on  everybody, "  Romeo  agreed, 
happily. 

"  Listen, "  said  Isabel.  A  faint  chug-chug  was  heard 
in  the  distance,  gradually  coming  nearer.  "It's  my 
car.  I  wish  you  hadn't  been  so  quick  to  get  rid  of  it 
last  night.  We  could  have  gone  away  in  it  now. " 

"Never  mind,  I'll  buy  you  another." 

They  hoped  to  reach  the  turn  in  the  road  before  the 
car  got  there,  but  failed.  Doctor  Jack  came  to  a  dead 
stop .  ' '  Want  a  lif t  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Romeo. 

"No,  thank  you,"  repeated  Isabel,  primly.  Colonel 
Kent  had  greeted  her  with  the  most  chilling  politeness, 
and  she  burned  to  get  away. 

"Say,"  resumed  Romeo,  "will  you  do  something 
forme?" 

" Sure, "  replied  the  Doctor,  cordially.  "Anything. " 

"Will  you  take  a  note  out  to  my  sister  for  me?  I 
shan't  get  back  for — some  time. " 

"You  bet.    Where  is  it?" 

"I  haven't  written  it  yet.    Just  wait  a  minute." 

Romeo  tore  a  leaf  from  an  old  memorandum  book 
which  he  carried,  and  wrote  rapidly: 

"DEAR  JULE: 

"Isabel  and  I  have  gone  away  to  get  married. 
You  can  have  half  of  everything.  I'll  let  you  know 
where  to  send  my  clothes. 

"R.  C." 


280  ®lb  1Rose  an&  Silver 

He  was  tempted  to  add  an  apology  for  what  he 
had  said  earlier  in  the  day,  but  his  newly  acquired 
importance  made  him  refrain  from  anything  so 
compromising. 

He  folded  the  note  into  a  little  cocked  hat  and 
addressed  it.  "Much  obliged,"  he  said,  laconically. 
"So  long." 

"So  long,"  returned  Doctor  Jack,  starting  the 
engine. 

"Good-bye, "  said  the  Colonel,  lifting  his  hat. 

Romeo  left  Isabel  at  Madame  Bernard's  gate. 
"Hurry  up,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "I'll  meet  you 
under  the  big  elm  down  the  road. " 

"All  right, "  she  whispered. 

Madame  Bernard  was  asleep,  so  Isabel  hastily 
crammed  a  few  things  into  a  suit-case  and  slipped  out 
of  the  house,  unseen  and  unheard.  As  the  half- 
starved  minister  of  the  country  parish  was  sorely  in 
need  of  the  generous  fee  Romeo  pressed  upon  him  in 
advance,  the  arrangements  were  pitifully  easy.  He 
was  at  the  trysting  place  fully  ten  minutes  before  she. 
came  in  sight,  staggering  under  the  unaccustomed 
burden  of  a  heavy  suit-case. 

It  might  not  have  occurred  to  him  to  relieve  Juliet 
of  a  cumbrous  piece  of  baggage,  but  he  instinctively 
took  it  from  Isabel.  "Come  on, "  he  said.  "We've 
got  to  hurry  if  we  don't  want  to  miss  the  four-thirty." 

"How  long  does  it  take  to  get  married?"  queried 
Isabel. 

"Not  long,  I  guess.  See  how  people  fool  around 
over  it,  and  we're  getting  through  with  it  in  one 
afternoon.  We're  making  a  record,  I  guess. " 

It  seemed  that  they  were,  for  when  they  came  to  the 
shabby  little  brown  house,  near  the  big  white  church, 


"Uears,  f&Ie  treats"  «8i 

the  minister,  his  wife,  and  a  next-door  neighbour  were 
waiting.  In  a  very  short  time,  the  ceremony  was  over 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Romeo  Crosby  were  on  the  train, 
speeding  toward  their  honeymoon  and  the  lively 
years  that  undoubtedly  lay  ahead  of  them. 

Allison  had  changed  his  mind  about  going  out  that 
afternoon,  but  promised  to  go  next  time.  Colonel 
Kent  remained  at  home,  and  Doctor  Jack  sped  away 
alone  upon  his  errand. 

When  he  reached  Crosby's,  Juliet,  clad  in  her  best, 
was  just  leaving  the  house.  She  was  outwardly 
cheerful,  but  her  face  still  bore  traces  of  tears. 

"Where  were  you  going?"  asked  the  Doctor,  as 
Juliet  greeted  him.  There  was  a  new  shyness  in  her 
manner,  as  of  some  unwonted  restraint. 

"I  was  going  into  town.  I  wanted  to  see  Aunt 
Francesca. "  She  slipped  easily  into  the  habit  of  the 
others,  seldom  hearing  the  name  "  Madame  Bernard. " 

"I'll  take  you.    Here's  a  note  from  your  brother." 

Juliet  opened  it,  read  the  fateful  message,  and 
turned  white  as  death. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Doctor,  much  alarmed. 

In  answer,  she  offered  him  the  note,  her  hand  shak 
ing  pitifully.  The  Doctor  read  it  twice  before  he 
grasped  the  full  meaning  of  it.  "Well,  I'll  be — "  he 
said,  half  to  himself. 

Unable  to  stand,  Juliet  sat  down  upon  the  well- 
worn  door-step  and  he  sat  down  beside  her.  "  It's  all 
my  fault, "  she  said,  solemnly.  "Romie  told  me  this 
morning  that  I  wasn't  a  lady,  and  he  wanted  me  to  be 
like  her.  He  said  I  was  a  tomboy,  and  I  told  him 
that  if  I  was,  he'd  done  it  himself,  and  he  got  mad  and 
went  away,  and  now " 


©It)  TCose  an&  Silver 

Juliet  burst  into  tears,  but  she  had  no  handkerchief, 
so  Doctor  Jack  gave  her  his. 

"  'Tears,  idle  tears,'  "  he  quoted  lightly.  "I  say, 
kid,  don't  take  it  so  hard. " 

"I — I'm  not  a  lady, "  she  sobbed. 

"You  are,"  he  assured  her.  "You're  the  finest 
little  lady  I  know." 

"  Don't — don't, "  she  sobbed.  "  Don't  make  fun  of 
me.  Romie  said  that  you  were — laughing  at  me — 
yesterday — because  I  was — a — a  tomboy!" 

"Kid,"  he  said,  softly,  almost  unmanned  by  a 
sudden  tenderness  quite  foreign  to  his  experi 
ence.  "Oh,  my  dear  little  girl,  won't  you  look 
at  me?" 

The  tone  was  wholly  new  to  Juliet — she  did  not 
know  that  any  man  could  be  so  tender,  so  beautifully 
kind.  "It's  because  he's  a  doctor,"  she  thought. 
"He's  used  to  seeing  people  when  they  don't  feel 
right." 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  he  was  saying.  "Your  brother 
didn't  mean  anything  by  it,  little  girl.  He  was 
just  teasing." 

"He  wasn't,"  returned  Juliet,  wiping  her  eyes. 
"  Don't  you  think  I  know  when  he's  teasing  and  when 
he  isn't?  I'm  not  a  lady;  I'm  only  a  tomboy,  and 
now  he's  gone  away  with  her  and  left  me  all 
alone. " 

"You'll  never  be  alone  if  I  can  help  it, "  he  assured 
her,  fervently.  "Look  here,  do  you  suppose  you 
could  ever  learn  to  like  me?" 

"Why,  I  like  you  now — I've  always  liked  you." 

"  I  know,  but  I  don't  mean  that.  Do  you  think  you 
could  ever  like  me  a  whole  lot?  Enough  to  marry  me, 
I  mean?" 


"ttears,  IMe  Uears"  283 

"Why,  I  don't  know — I  never  thought — "  Juliet's 
voice  trailed  off  into  an  inarticulate  murmur  of 
astonishment. 

"Won't  you  try?"  he  pleaded.  "Oh,  Juliet,  I've 
loved  you  ever  since  I  first  saw  you!" 

The  high  colour  surged  into  her  face.  He  was  not 
joking — he  meant  every  word.  Even  Juliet  could  see 
that. 

"Won't  you  try,  dear?  That's  all  I'll  ask  for, 
now. " 

"Why,  yes, "  she  said,  her  wide  blue  eyes  fixed  upon 
his.  "I'd  try  almost  anything — for  you,  but  I'm  only 
a  tomboy. " 

Doctor  Jack  caught  her  cold  little  hands  in  his. 
"Kiss  me,"  he  said,  huskily. 

Juliet's  face  burned,  but  she  lifted  her  lips  to  his, 
obediently  and  simply  as  a  child.  The  man  hesitated 
for  an  instant,  then  pushed  her  away  from  him;  not 
unkindly,  but  firmly. 

"No,  I  won't  take  it,  Princess,"  he  said,  in  a 
strange  tone.  "I'll  wait  until  you  wake  up. " 

"I'm — not  asleep,"  she  stammered. 

"You  are  in  some  ways."  Then  he  added, 
irrelevantly,  "Thank  God!" 

"I  don't  know,"  remarked  Juliet,  at  the  end  of  an 
uncomfortable  pause,  "what  to  do  with  myself.  I 
don't  want  to  stay  here  alone  and  I  wouldn't  go  any 
where  near  them — not  for  the  world. " 

"Where  did  you  say  you  were  going,  when  I 
came?" 

"To  Aunt  Francesca's — Madame  Bernard,  you 
know. " 

"Good  business,"  he  answered,  nodding  vigorous 
approval.  "Come  on.  She  seems  to  be  the  unfailing 


284  ®l&  TCose  an£>  Silver 

refuge  of  the  shipwrecked  mariner  in  this  district. 
If  I'm  not  much  mistaken,  she'll  take  you  into  her  big 
house  and  her  bigger  heart. " 

"Oh,"  said  Juliet,  wistfully,  "do  you  think  she 
would  take  me — and  make  me  into  a  lady?" 

"I  think  she'll  take  you,"  he  responded,  after  a 
brief  struggle  with  himself,  "but  I  don't  want  you 
made  over.  I  want  you  to  stay  just  exactly  as  you 
are.  Oh,  you  dear  little  kid,"  he  muttered,  "you'll 
try  to  care,  won't  you?" 

"I'll  try,"  she  promised,  sweetly,  as  she  climbed 
into  the  big  red  machine.  "I  didn't  think  I'd  ever 
be  in  this  car. " 

"You  can  come  whenever  you  like.  It's  mine, 
now." 

Juliet  did  not  seem  to  hear.  The  car  hummed  along 
the  dusty  road,  making  a  soothing,  purring  noise. 
Pensively  she  looked  across  the  distant  fields,  whence 
came  the  hum  and  whir  of  reaping.  There  was  a  far 
away  look  in  her  face  that  the  man  beside  her  was 
powerless  to  understand.  She  was  making  swift 
readjustments  as  best  she  might,  and,  wisely,  he  left 
her  to  herself. 

As  they  approached  Madame  Bernard's,  Juliet 
turned  to  him.  "I  was  just  thinking,"  she  sighed, 
"how  quickly  you  grow  up  after  you  get  to  be 
twenty -one. " 

He  made  no  answer.  He  swallowed  hard  and  turned 
the  car  into  the  driveway.  Aunt  Francesca  came  out 
on  the  veranda,  followed  by  Mr.  Boffin,  as  Juliet 
jumped  out  of  the  car.  She  had  the  crumpled  note  in 
her  cold  little  hand. 

Without  a  word,  she  offered  it  to  Madame  Bernard 
and  waited.  The  beautiful  face  instantly  became  soft 


"ZTears,  f&le  Uears"  285 

with  pity.  "My  dear  child,"  she  breathed.  "My 
dear  little  motherless  child!" 

Juliet  went  into  her  open  arms  as  straight  as  a 
homing  pigeon  to  its  nest.  "Oh,  Aunt  Francesca, " 
she  sobbed,  "will  you  take  me  and  make  a  lady  out  of 
me?" 

"You're  already  a  lady, "  laughed  the  older  woman 
amid  her  tears.  ' '  Come  in,  Juliet  dear — come  home ! ' ' 


XXIV 
Ubc  Douse  TDQlbere  Xove  XfveO 

IT  was  past  the  middle  of  October,  and  Allison's 
injured  hand  was  not  only  free  of  its  bandages,  but  he 
had  partially  regained  the  use  of  it.  Doctor  Jack  still 
lingered,  eagerly  seizing  every  excuse  that  presented 
itself. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  back  looking  for  another 
job,"  he  regretfully  observed  to  Allison,  "but  I  like 
it  here,  and  besides,  I  want  to  hear  you  play  on 
your  riddle  before  I  go. " 

Allison  laughed  and  hospitably  urged  him  to  stay 
as  long  as  he  chose.  Colonel  Kent  added,  heartily, 
after  an  old  Southern  fashion:  "My  house  is 
yours. " 

Crimson  and  golden  leaves  rained  from  the  maples, 
and  the  purple  winds  of  Autumn  swept  them  into 
drifts  at  the  roadside.  Amethystine  haze  shimmered 
in  the  valleys  and  lay,  cloud-like,  upon  the  distant 
hills.  Through  the  long  aisles  of  trees  a  fairy  patter 
of  tiny  furred  feet  rustled  back  and  forth  upon  the 
fallen  leaves.  Only  a  dropping  nut  or  a  busy  squirrel 
broke  the  exquisite  peace  of  the  forest,  where  the 
myriad  life  of  the  woods  waited,  in  hushed  expectancy, 
for  the  tide  of  the  year  to  turn. 

Like  a  scarlet  shuttle  plying  through  the  vreb  of 
286 


1>ouse  Wbere  Xox>e  Xtvefc       287 

Autumn,  the  big  red  touring  car  hummed  and  whirred, 
with  a  happy  young  man  at  the  wheel  and  a  laughing 
girl  beside  him.  Juliet's  momentary  self -consciousness 
was  gone,  and  she  was  her  sunny  self  again,  though  she 
still  occasionally  wept  in  secret,  longing  for  her 
brother. 

"Aunt  Francesca, "  she  said,  one  day,  when  the 
two  were  sewing  on  dainty  garments  destined  to 
adorn  Juliet,  "do  you  think  Romie  will  ever  come 
back  to  me?" 

' '  Not  in  the  sense  you  mean,  dear,"  replied  Madame, 
gently.  "We  live  in  a  world  of  change  and  things  are 
never  the  same,  even  from  day  to  day. " 

"She  made  him  think  I  was  a  tomboy,  and  now 
she'll  teach  him  not  to  love  me.  Why  does  she  want 
everything?" 

"Some  women  do,  when  they  marry.  Many  are 
not  content  to  be  sweetheart  and  wife,  but  must  take 
the  place  of  mother  and  sisters  too.  But  remember, 
Juliet,  when  a  woman  closes  a  man's  heart  against 
those  of  his  own  blood,  the  one  door  she  has  left  open 
will  some  day  be  slammed  in  her  own  face." 

"And  then ?" 

"Then  the  other  doors  will  swing  ajar,  turning 
slowly  on  rusty  hinges,  but  the  women  for  whom 
they  are  opened  will  never  cross  the  threshold 
again." 

"Why?" 

"Because  they  have  ceased  to  care.  There  is 
nothing  so  dead  as  a  woman's  dead  love.  When  the 
fire  goes  out  and  no  single  ember  is  left,  the  ashes  are 
past  the  power  of  flame  to  rekindle. " 

"Do  you  think  that,  after  a  while,  I  won't  care  for 
Romie  any  more?" 


©It)  IRose  anfc  Silver 

"Not  as  you  used  to — that  is  impossible  even 
now." 

Juliet  sighed  and  hastily  wiped  away  a  tear.  With 
a  quick,  sure  stroke,  her  life  seemed  to  have  been 
divided. 

"Don't,  dear.  Remember  what  you  have  had.  I 
often  think  a  woman  has  crossed  the  line  between 
youth  and  maturity,  when  she  begins  to  put  away, 
in  the  lavender  of  memory,  the  lovely  things  she  has 
had — and  is  never  to  have  again.  The  after  years  are 
made  up,  so  many  times,  of  things  one  has  had — 
rounded  off  and  put  away  forever. " 

"I  know,"  returned  Juliet,  with  a  far-away  look  in 
her  eyes.  "I  remember  the  day  I  grew  up — almost 
the  hour.  It  was  the  day  I  came  here." 

Madame  stooped  to  kiss  the  girl's  rosy  cheek,  then 
swiftly  turned  the  talk  to  linen  and  lace.  Always 
quick  to  observe,  Juliet  had  acquired  little  graces  of 
tone  and  manner,  softened  her  abruptness,  and, 
guided  by  loving  tact,  had  begun  to  bloom  like  a 
primrose  in  a  sunny  window. 

"When — when  Miss  Bernard  comes  back  again," 
asked  Juliet,  wistfully,  "shall  I  have  to  go?" 

"No,  dear — indeed  no!  This  is  your  home  until 
the  right  man  comes  a-wooing,  and  takes  you  to  a 
little  house  of  your  own." 

Scarlet  signals  flamed  in  Juliet's  cheeks  as  she 
earnestly  devoted  herself  to  her  sewing,  and  Madame 
smiled.  Already,  in  quiet  moments,  she  had  planned 
a  pretty  wedding  gown  for  Juliet,  and  a  still  prettier 
wedding. 

Allison  came  frequently,  sometimes  alone  and  some 
times  with  his  father  or  Doctor  Jack.  He  had  re 
marked  once  that  when  he  desired  to  consult  his 


ZTbe  t>ouse  Wbere  Xove  Xfrefc       289 

physician,  he  always  knew  where  to  find  him.  Madame 
affected  not  to  notice  that  a  strange  young  man  had 
become  a  veritable  part  of  her  family,  for  she  liked 
Doctor  Jack  and  made  him  very  welcome,  morning, 
noon,  and  night. 

On  Wednesdays,  the  men  of  the  other  household 
dined  with  her.  Saturdays,  she  and  Juliet  were 
honoured  guests  at  the  Colonel's,  though  he  depre 
cated  his  own  hospitality.  "A  house  needs  a  woman 
at  the  head  of  it,"  he  said.  "It  was  different  when 
Miss  Rose  was  here." 

"Indeed  it  was, "  thought  Allison,  though  he  did  not 
put  it  into  words. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  when  it  was  cool  enough 
to  make  an  open  fire  seem  the  most  cheerful  of  com 
panions,  Madame  had  them  all  at  her  own  table. 
Juliet  was  surpassingly  lovely  in  her  first  long  gown, 
of  ivory- tinted  chiffon,  ornamented  only  by  hand 
embroidery  and  a  bit  of  deep-toned  lace.  Her  wavy 
hair  was  gathered  into  a  loose  knot,  from  which  tiny 
tendrils  escaped  to  cling  about  her  face.  Madame  had 
put  a  pink  rose  into  her  hah",  slipped  another  into  her 
belt,  and  had  been  well  pleased  with  the  work  of  her 
own  hands. 

After  dinner,  while  Juliet  played  piquet  with  the 
Colonel,  and  Doctor  Jack  sat  quietly  in  the  shadow, 
where  he  could  watch  every  play  of  light  and  shade 
upon  the  girl's  lovely  changing  face,  Allison  drew 
Madame  into  the  library  and  quietly  closed  the  door. 

"Aunt  Francesca,"  he  said,  without  preliminary, 
"I've  been  more  kinds  of  a  fool  in  a  few  months  than 
most  men  can  manage  to  be  in  a  lifetime. " 

"Yes,"  Madame  agreed,  with  a  cool  little  smile. 

"Where  is  Rose?"  he  demanded. 
19 


®l&  "Rose  anfc  Stiver 

"Rose,"  replied  Madame,  lightly,  "has  gone 
away." 

"I  know  that,"  he  flashed  back.  "I  realise  it 
every  day  and  every  hour  of  my  life.  I  asked 
where  she  was." 

"And  I,"  answered  Madame,  imperturably,  "have 
told  you.    She  is  simply  '  away. ' 
•"Is  she  well?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  she  happy?" 

"Of  course.  Why  not?  Beauty,  health,  talent, 
sufficient  income,  love — what  more  can  a  woman 
desire?" 

"Aunt  Francesca!  Tell  me,  please.  Where  is 
Rose?" 

"When  I  was  married,"  answered  Madame,  idly 
fingering  an  ivory  paper  knife,  "I  went  to  live  in  a 
little  house  in  the  woods." 

"Yes?    Where  is  Rose?" 

"It  was  only  a  tiny  place,  but  a  brook  sang  in  front 
of  it,  night  and  day. " 

"Must  have  been  pretty.    Where  did  Rose  go?" 

"It  was  very  quiet  there.  It  would  have  been  a 
good  place  to  work,  if  either  of  us  had  been  musical, 
or  anything  of  that  sort. " 

"Charming,"  replied  Allison,  absently. 

"It  wasn't  far  from  town,  either.  We  could  take  a 
train  at  two  o'clock,  and  reach  Holly  Springs  a  little 
after  three.  It  was  half  a  mile  up  the  main  road  from 
the  station,  and,  as  we  had  no  horse,  we  always 
walked. " 

"Nice  walk,"  said  Allison,  dejectedly. 

"I  have  never  been  back  since — since  I  was  left 
alone.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  my  little  house 


TTbe  Douse  TKHbere  Xox>e  Xivefc       291 

ought  to  have  someone  to  look  after  it.  A  house  gets 
lonely,  too,  with  no  one  to  care  for  it. " 

"I  suppose  so.    Is  Rose  coming  back?" 

41 1  have  often  thought  of  the  little  Summer  cottages, 
huddled  together  like  frightened  children,  when  the 
life  and  laughter  had  gone  and  Winter  was  swiftly 
approaching.  How  cold  their  walls  must  be  and  how 
empty  the  heart  of  a  little  house,  when  there  is  no  fire 
there !  So  like  a  woman,  when  love  has  gone  out  of  her 
life." 

Allison  sighed,  and  began  to  sharpen  his  pencil. 
Madame  observed  that  his  hands  were  trembling. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "I  don't  deserve  to  know  where 
she  is,  and  Rose  doesn't  want  me  chasing  after  her. 
Never  mind — I  had  it  coming  to  me,  I  guess.  What 
a  hopeless  idiot  I've  been!" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Madame,  cordially.  "Carlyle  says 
that  'there  is  no  other  entirely  fatal  person.'  " 

Something  in  her  tone  gave  him  courage  for  another 
question.  "Once  for  all,  Aunt  Francesca,  will  you 
tell  me  where  Rose  is?" 

"George  Washington  was  a  great  man,"  Ma 
dame  observed.  "He  never  told  a  lie.  If  he  had 
promised  not  to  tell  anything,  he  never  told  it." 
Then  she  added,  with  swift  irrelevance,  "this  used 
to  be  a  very  pleasant  time  of  the  year  at  Holly 
Springs." 

A  great  light  broke  in  upon  Allison.  "Aunt  Fran 
cesca!"  he  cried.  He  put  his  arms  around  her,  lifted 
her  from  her  chair,  and  nearly  smothered  her  in  a 
bear-like  embrace.  "God  bless  you ! ' ' 

"He  has,"  murmured  Madame,  disengaging  her 
self.  "  My  foster  son  has  been  a  dunce,  but  his  reason 
is  now  restored. " 


292  Old  TRose  and  Silver 

The  two  o'clock  train  to  Holly  Springs  did  not  leave 
town  until  three,  so  Allison  waited  for  an  hour  in 
the  station,  fuming  with  impatience.  Both  Colonel 
Kent  and  the  Doctor  had  offered  to  accompany  him, 
individually  or  together,  but  he  had  brusquely  put 
them  aside. 

"Don't  worry,"  he  said.  "My  name  and  address 
are  in  my  pocket  and  also  inside  my  hat.  I'll  check 
my  grip  and  be  tenderly  considerate  of  my  left  hand. 
Good-bye." 

When  he  had  gone  Colonel  Kent  anxiously  turned 
to  the  Doctor.  "Where  do  you  suppose  —  and 
why " 

"  Cherchez  lafemme, "  returned  the  Doctor. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?    It's  not " 

"It's  about  the  only  errand  a  man  can  go  on,  and 
not  be  willing  to  take  another  chap  along.  And  I'll 
bet  anything  I've  got,  except  my  girl  and  my  buzz- 
cart,  that  it  isn't  the  fair,  false  one  we  met  at  the  hour 
of  her  elopement. " 

"Must  be  Rose,  then,"  said  the  Colonel,  half  to 
himself,  "but  I  thought  nobody  knew  where  she 
was." 

"Love  will  find  a  way,"  hummed  Doctor  Jack. 
"I  suppose  -you  don't  care  to  go  for  a  ride  this 
afternoon?" 

"Not  I,"  laughed  the  Colonel.  "Why  don't  you 
take  Juliet?" 

"All  right,  since  you  ask  me  to.  I  wonder,"  he 
continued  to  himself,  as  he  went  toward  Madame 
Bernard's  at  the  highest  rate  of  speed,  "just  how  a 
fellow  would  go  to  work  to  find  a  woman  who  had  left 
no  address?  Sixth  sense,  I  suppose,  or  perhaps 
seventh  or  eighth." 


Ube  f)ouse  Wbere  Xove  Xivefc       293 

Yet  Allison  was  doing  very  well,  with  only  the  five 
senses  of  the  normal  human  being  to  aid  him  in  his 
search.  He  left  the  train  at  the  sleepy  little  place 
known  as  "Holly  Springs,"  and  walked  up  the  main 
road  as  though  he  knew  the  way. 

"Half  a  mile,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  a  little 
brown  house  in  the  woods  with  a  brook  singing  in 
front  of  it.  Ought  to  get  to  it  pretty  soon. " 

The  prattling  brook  was  half  asleep  in  its  narrow 
channel,  but  the  gentle  murmur  was  audible  to  one 
who  stopped  in  the  road  to  listen.  It  did  not  cross  the 
road,  but  turned  away,  frightened,  from  the  dusty 
highway  of  a  modest  civilisation,  and  went  back  into 
the  woods,  where  it  met  another  brook  and  travelled 
to  the  river  in  company. 

The  house,  just  back  of  the  singing  stream,  was  a 
little  place,  as  Madame  Bernard  had  said,  but,  though 
he  rapped  repeatedly,  no  one  answered.  So  he  lifted 
the  latch  and  cautiously  stepped  in. 

A  grand  piano,  unblushingly  new,  and  evidently 
of  recent  importation  from  the  city,  occupied  most  of 
the  tiny  living-room.  The  embers  of  a  wood  fire  lay 
on  the  hearth  and  the  room  was  faintly  scented  with 
the  sweet  smoke  of  hard  pine.  A  well-known  and  well- 
worn  sonata  was  on  the  music  rack;  a  volume  of 
Chopin  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  Allison  picked  it 
up,  and  put  it  in  its  place.  On  the  piano  was 
some  of  his  own  music,  stamped  with  his  Berlin 
address. 

A  familiar  hat,  trimmed  with  crushed  roses,  lay 
on  the  window  seat.  The  faint,  indefinable  scent  of 
attar  of  roses  was  dimly  to  be  discerned  as  a  sort  of 
background  for  the  fragrant  smoke.  An  open  book 
lay  face  downward  on  the  table ;  a  bit  of  dainty  needle- 


C94 


©It)  TRose  ant>  Silver 


work  was  thrown  carelessly  across  the  chair.  An 
envelope  addressed  to  "Madame  Francesca  Bernard" 
was  on  the  old-fashioned  writing  desk,  and  a  single 
page  of  rose-stamped  paper  lay  near  it,  bearing,  in  a 
familiar  hand:  "My  Dearest." 

The  two  words  filled  Allison  with  panic.  Not 
knowing  how  Rose  was  wont  to  address  the  little  old 
lady  they  both  loved,  he  conjured  up  the  forbidding 
spectre  of  The  Other  Man,  that  had  haunted  him  for 
weeks  past. 

Sighing,  he  sat  down  at  the  piano,  and  began  to 
drum  idly,  with  one  hand.  "Wonder  if  I  could 
use  the  other,"  he  thought.  "Pretty  stiff,  I 
guess." 

He  began  to  play,  from  memory: 


4*- 


rzjTr 

<•         I  'mm 


legato. 


A 


£: 


ttbe  t>onse  Mbere  Zox>e  Xfvefc      295 

and  outside  a  woman  paused,  almost  at  the  threshold, 
with  her  hands  upon  her  heart.  In  a  sudden  throb  of 
pain,  the  old  days  came  back.  She  saw  herself  at  the 
piano,  aching  with  love  and  longing,  while  just  be 
yond,  in  an  old  moonlit  garden,  Allison  made  love  to 
Isabel. 


A: 


i 


^ 


Was  it  a  ghost,  or  was  it — ?  No,  she  was  only 
foolish.  Aunt  Francesca  had  promised  not  to  tell, 
and  she  never  broke  her  word.  Besides,  why  should 
he  seek  her? 


IRose  ant)  Silver 


"It's  only  someone  who  has  stopped  in  passing," 
Rose  thought,  "to  ask  the  way  to  the  next  town,  or  to 
get  a  glass  of  water,  or — I  won't  be  foolish!  I'll  go 
in!" 


ff   fffl^ 

-*r-  -ti — r bx — c :  — nr — r— 


^ 


H»~ 


So  she  crossed  the  threshold,  into  the  house  where 
Love  lived. 

At  the  sound  of  her  step,  the  man  turned  quickly, 
the  music  ending  in  a  broken  chord. 

"You!"  she  gasped.    "Oh,  how  could  you  come!" 

"By  train, "  answered  Allison  gently,  "and  then  by 
walking.  I've  frightened  you,  Rose. " 


ttbe  f>ouse  Wbere  %ot>e  Xivefc       297 

"No,"  she  stammered  sinking  into  a  chair.  "I'm 
— I'm  surprised,  of  course.  I'm  glad  you're  well 
enough  to  be  about  again.  Did — is  anything  wrong 
with  Aunt  Francesca?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"Indeed  there  isn't.  She  was  blooming  like  a  lilac 
bush  in  May,  when  I  saw  her  last  night. " 

"Did— did— she  tell  you?" 

"She  did  not, "  he  returned,  concisely. 

"Then  how— how ?" 

"  I  just  came.  What  made  you  think  you  could  get 
away  from  me?" 

"I  wasn't — getting  away,"  she  returned,  with 
difficulty.  "I  was  just  tired — and  I  came  here  to — 
to  rest — and  to  work, "  she  concluded,  lamely.  "You 
didn't  need  me." 

"Not  need  you,"  he  cried,  stretching  his  trembl 
ing  hands  toward  her.  "Oh,  Rose,  I  need  you 
always!" 

Slowly  the  colour  ebbed  from  her  face,  leaving 
her  white  to  the  lips.  "Don't,"  she  said,  piti 
fully. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  flashed  back,  bitterly.  "I've 
lost  any  shadow  of  right  I  might  ever  have  had, 
because  I  was  a  blind  fool,  and  I  never  had  any  chance 
anyway.  All  I  can  do  is  to  go  on  loving  you,  needing 
you,  wanting  you;  seeing  your  face  before  me  every 
hour  of  the  day  and  night,  thirsting  for  you  with  every 
fibre  of  me.  All  I  have  to  keep  is  an  empty  husk  of 
memory — those  few  weeks  you  were  kind  to  me.  At 
least  I  had  you  with  me,  though  your  heart  belonged 
to  someone  else." 

"Someone  else?"  she  repeated,  curiously.  The 
colour  was  coming  back  slowly  now. 

"Yes.     Have  you  forgotten  you  told  me?     That 


e98  ©K>  IRose  anfc  Silver 

day,  don't  you  remember,  you  said  you  had  loved 
another  man  who  did  not  care  forjrou?" 

Rose  nodded.  Her  face  was  like  a  crimson 
flower  swaying  on  a  slender  stem.  "I  said,"  she 
began  "that  I  had  loved  a  man  who  did  not  care 
forme,  and  that  I  always  would.  Wasn't  that  it?" 

"Something  like  that.  I  wish  to  God  I  could  change 
places  with  him. " 

"Did  I,"  hesitated  Rose,  "are  you  sure — that  I 
said — another  man,  or  was  it  just — a  man?" 

' '  Rose !    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

Covered  with  lovely  confusion,  she  stumbled  over 
to  the  window,  where  she  might  hide  her  burning  face 
from  him.  "  Don't  you  think, "  she  asked,  unsteadily, 
"that  it  is  beautiful  here?  This  is  Aunt  Francesca's 
little  house,  where  she  came  when  she  was  first  mar 
ried.  She  always  calls  it  '  the  little  house  where  Love 
lived.' 

"And  I  came  here,"  she  went  on,  courageously, 
"because,  in  a  house  where  Love — had  lived,  I 
thought,  there  might  be  some — for " 

Her  voice  trailed  off  into  in  an  indistinct  murmur. 
"Rose,"  cried  Allison,  "couldn't  you  give  me  just 
what  I  had  before?  Couldn't  we  go  back,  and  never 
mind  the  other  man?" 

"There's  never  any  going  back,"  she  answered,  in 
a  whisper.  Her  heart  was  beating  wildly  because  he 
was  so  near.  "And  did  I  say — are  you  sure  I  said — 
another  man?" 

"Rose!  Rose!  Look  at  me!  Tell  me,  for  God's 
sake,  who  he  was — or  is.  I  can't  bear  it!" 

She  turned  toward  him.  "Look,"  she  said,  softly. 
"Look  in  my  face  and  see." 

For  a    tense    instant  he  hesitated.      Then,    with 


Ube  Douse  Mbere  Xot>e  Xix>e&       299 

a  little  cry  of  joy,  he  clasped  her  close  forever, 
having  seen  his  own  face  mirrored  in  her  happy 
eyes. 


END 


MYRTLE    REED'S   NOVEL! 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of 
New  England  where  bygone  romance  finds  a 
modern  parallel.  The  story  centers  round 
the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on 
the  staff  of  a  newspaper— and  it  is  one  of  the 
prettiest,  sweetest  and  quaintest  of  old  fash 
ioned  love  stories,  *  *  *  a  rare  book,  ex 
quisite  in  spirit  and  conception,  full  of 
delicate  fancy,  of  tenderness,  of  delightful 
humor  and  spontaniety. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

Miss  Myrtle  Reed  may  always  be  depended  upon  to  write  a  story 
in  which  poetry,  charm,  tenderness  and  humor  are  combined  into  a 
clever  and  entertaining  book.  Her  characters  are  delightful  and  she 
always  displays  a  quaint  humor  of  expression  and  a  quiet  feeling  of 
pathos  which  give  a  touch  of  active  realism  to  all  her  writings.  In 
"A  Spinner  in  the  Sun"  she  tells  an  old-fashioned  love  story,  of  a 
veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude  and  whose  features  her  neighbors 
have  never  seen.  There  is  a  mystery  at  the  heart  of  the  book  that 
throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance, 

THE   MASTER'S   VIOLIN, 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  A  picturesque-  old  Ger 
man  virtuoso  is  the  reverent  possessor  of  a  genuine  "Cremona."  He 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  handsome  youth  who  proves  to  have 
an  aptitude  for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  The  youth 
has  led  the  happy,  careless  life  of  a  modern,  well-to-do  young  Amer 
ican  and  he  cannot,  with  his  meagre  past,  express  the  love,  the  passion 
and  the  tragedies  of  life  and  all  its  happy  phases  as  can  the  master 
who  has  lived  life  in  all  its  fulness.  But  a  girl  comes  into  his  life — a 
beautiful  bit  of  human  driftwood  that  his  aunt  had  taken  into  her 
heart  and  home,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her,  he  learns 
the  lessons  that  life  has  to  give — and  his  soul  awakes. 

Founded  on  a  fact  that  all  artists  realize. 

AA  for  a  complete  fret  lift  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 


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STORIES   OF    RARE    CHARM    BY 

GENE  STRATTON-PORTER 

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THE  HARVESTER 
Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs 

"The  Harvester,"  David  Langston,  is 
a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  who  draws 
his  living  from  the  prodigal  hand  of  Mother 
Nature  herself.  If  the  book  had  nothing  in 
it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man,  with 
his  sure  grip  on  life,  his  superb  optimism, 
and  his  almost  miraculous  knowledge  of 
nature  secrets,  it  would  be  notable.  But 
when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "Medicine 
Woods,"  and  the  Harvester's  whole  sound, 
healthy,  large  outdoor  being  realizes  that 
this  is  the  highest  point  of  life  which  has 
come  to  him  —  there  begins  a  romance, 
troubled  and  interrupted,  yet  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 

FRECKLES.       Decorations  by  E.  Stetson  Crawford 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality;  and  his  love- 
story  with  "The  Angel"  are  full  of  real  sentiment. 

A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST. 

Illustrated  by  Wladyslaw  T.  Brenda. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods;  a  buoyant,  lovable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by  the 
sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 

It  is  an  inspiring  story  of  a  life  worth  while  and  the  rich  beauties 
of  the  out-of-doors  are  strewn  through  all  its  pages. 

AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW. 

Illustrations  in  colors  by  Oliver  Kemp.    Design  and  decorations  by 
Ralph  Fletcher  Seymour. 

The  scene  of  this  charming,  idyllic  love  story  is  laid  in  Central 
Indiana.  The  story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self- 
sacrificing  love;  the  friendship  that  gives  freely  without  return,  and 
the  love  that  seeks  first  the  happiness  of  the  object.  The  novel  is 
brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of  nature,  and  its  pathos 
and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 

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JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

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THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  the 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
foot-Prints  of  a  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King 
dom  Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

*'  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came  —  he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery  —  a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains. 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  f  eudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon 
shiner's  son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris 
tened  "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  of  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  f  er-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
narratives. 


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KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN'S 
STORIES  OF  PURE  DELIGHT 

Full   of  originality  and   humor,    kindliness   and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
Barber  Stephens. 

One  of  the  prettiest  romances  that  has  ever  come  from  this 
author's  pen  is  made  to  bloom  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  sweet 
freshness  of  an  old  New  England  meeting  house. 

PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  in 
colors. 

Scotland  is  the  background  for  the  merry  doings  of  three  very 
clever  and  original  American  girls.  Their  adventures  in  adjusting 
themselves  to  the  Scot  and  his  land  are  full  of  humor. 

PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 

with  "Penelope's  Progress." 

The  trio  of  clever  girls  who  rambled  over  Scotland  cross  the  bor 
der  to  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  again  they  sharpen  their  wits  againsc 
new  conditions,  and  revel  in  the  land  of  laughter  and  wit. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood — Rebecca's  artis 
tic,  unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  cut  midst  a  circle 
of  austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phe 
nomenal  dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

ROSE   O'  THE  RIVER.     With  illustrations  by  George 

Wright 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
young  farmer,  The  girl's  fancy  for  a  city  man  interrupts  their  love 
and  merges  the  story  into  an  emotional  strain  where  the  reader  fol 
lows  the  events  with  rapt  attention. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


AMELIA  E.  BARK'S  STORIES 

DELIGHTFUL    TALES    OF  OLD    NEW  YORK 

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THE  BOW  OF  ORANGE  RIBBON.    With  Frontispiece. 

This  exquisite  little  romance  opens  in  New  York  City  in  "the  ten 
der  grace"  of  a  May  day  long  past,  when  the  old  Dutch  families 
clustered  around  Bowling  Green.  It  is  the  beginning  of  the  romance 
of  Katherine,  a  young  Dutch  girl  who  has  sent,  as  a  love  token,  to  a 
young  English  officer,  the  bow  of  orange  ribbon  which  she  has  worn 
for  years  as  a  sacred  emblem  on  the  day  of  St.  Nicholas.  After  the 
bow  of  ribbon  Katherine's  heart  soon  flies.  Unlike  her  sister,  whose 
heart  has  found  a  safe  resting  place  among  her  own  people,  Katherine's 
heart  must  rove  from  home — must  know  to  the  utmost  all  that  life 
holds  of  both  joy  and  sorrow.  And  so  she  goes  beyond  the  seas,  leav 
ing  her  parents  as  desolate  as  were  Isaac  and  Rebecca  of  old. 

THE    MAID    OF    MAIDEN    LANE;       A  Love  Story.      With 

Illustrations  by  S.  M.  Arthur. 

A  sequel  to  "The  Bow  of  Orange  Ribbon."  The  time  is  the 
gracious  days  of  Seventeen-hundred  and  ninety-one,  when  "The 
Marseillaise"  was  sung  with  the  American  national  airs,  and  the 
spirit  affected  commerce,  politics  and  conversation.  In  the  midst  of 
this  period  the  romance  of  "The  Sweetest  Maid  in  Maiden  Lane"  un 
folds.  Its  chief  charm  lies  in  its  historic  and  local  color. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.     Frontispiece  in  colors  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  love  story  set  in  the  Shetland  Islands. 

Among  the  simple,  homely  folk  who  dwelt  there  Jan  Vedder  was 
raised;  and  to  this  island  came  lovely  Sheila  Jarrow.  Jan  knew,  when 
first  he  beheld  her,  that  she  was  the  one  woman  in  all  the  world  for 
him,  and  to  the  winning  of  her  love  he  set  himself.  The  long  days  of 
summer  by  the  sea,  the  nights  under  the  marvelously  soft  radiance  of 
Shetland  moonlight  passed  in  love-making,  while  with  wonderment 
the  man  and  woman,  alien  in  traditions,  adjusted  themselves  to  each 
other.  And  the  day  came  when  Jan  and  Sheila  wed,  and  then  a 
sweeter  love  story  is  told. 

TRINITY  BELLS.      With  eight  Illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

The  story  centers  around  the  life  of  little  Katryntje  Van  Clyffe, 
who,  on  her  return  home  from  a  fashionable  boarding  school,  faces 
poverty  and  heartache.  Stout  of  heart,  she  does  not  permit  herself 
to  become  discouraged  even  at  the  news  of  the  loss  of.  her  father  and 
his  ship  "The  Golden  Victory."  The  story  of  Katryjntje's  life  was 
interwoven  with  the  music  of  the  Trinity  Bells  which  eventually 
heralded  her  wedding  day. 

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CHARMING  BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

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WHEN  PATTY  WENT  TO  COLLEGE,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  been 
written.  It  is  bright,  whimsical  and  entertaining,  lifelike,  laughable 
and  thoroughly  human. 

JUST    PATTY,    By  Jean  Webster. 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Patty  is  full  of  the  joy  of  Hying,  fun-loving,  given  to  ingenious 
mischief  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  disregard  for  pretty  convention  which 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  joy  to  her  fellows. 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH  GIRL,    By  Eleanor  Gates. 

With  four  full  page  illustrations. 

This  story  relates  the  experience  of  one  of  those  unfortunate  chil 
dren  whose  early  days  are  passed  in  the  companionship  of  a  governess, 
seldom  seeing  either  parent,  and  famishing  for  natural  love  and  tender 
ness.  A  charming  play  as  dramatized  by  the  author. 

REBECCA  OF  PUNNYBROOK    FARM,       By   Kate  Douglas 
Wiggin. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood— Rebecca's  artistic, 
unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  stand  out  midst  a  circle  of 
austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phenominal 
dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.    By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  this  delightful  heroine  that 
carry  Rebecca  through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

REBECCA  MARY,    By  Annie  Hamilton  DonnelL 
Illustrated  by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

This  author  possesses  the  rare  gift  of  portraying  all  the  grotesque 
little  joys  and  sorrows  and  scruples  of  this  very  small  girl  with  a  pa 
thos  that  is  peculiarly  genuine  and  appealing. 

EMMY  LOU:    Her  Book  and  Heart,    By  George  Madden  Martin. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  Louis  Hinton. 

Emmy  Lou  is  irresistibly  lovable,  because  she  is  so  absolutely  real. 
She  is  just  a  bewitchingly  innocent,  hugable  little  maid.  The  book  is 
wonderfully  human. 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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